


You're Just An Empty Cage Boy (If You Kill The Bird)

by cirquedusoleil



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapping, Mates, Mute Stiles, Prince Derek, Scars, Seer Stiles, Slow Burn, The Alpha Pack, Torture, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:46:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirquedusoleil/pseuds/cirquedusoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can't remember the last time he's spoken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> See End Notes for Warnings
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

Stiles can't remember the last time he's spoken. 

 

He remembers when the servants finally stopped trying to converse with him. He remembers when the guards ceased trying to goad him into snapping. It must have been sometime during his ninth week in the dungeons, but he isn't sure. His memory turns fuzzy around week four. 

 

He's forgotten what the vibrations of his vocal chords feel like in his throat. He can't remember what his own voice sounds like. But that doesn't bother him, not really. The last time he heard himself speak was when he was screaming, begging for the pain to stop. He doesn't even talk in his dreams.

 

But his dreams aren't ordinary. He doesn't imagine the mundane, a dream that doesn't matter and isn't real. No, he sees a man hugging his daughter in a cottage, a general giving his men orders, and a crown being placed on the head of a King. He dreams of the past, the present, and the possible future. He has little control over the visions he sees. If he doesn't concentrate just before he drifts away on what he wants to know, then he'll See nothing of importance. 

 

When he's awake, it's a whole other story. 

 

He reads people, Sees the stories in their eyes. Their eyes are the windows he looks through to See them, to flip through their minds like a picture book. If they lie, one look into his eyes and he knows. He can feel their intentions, picture their thoughts and decisions even before they can themselves. 

 

When he was a child he thought it was a gift, something to be proud of that he shared with his mother. Now, he sees it as a curse, the cage that has trapped him in his prison. 

 

\+ + + 

 

Stiles discovered his Sight when he was nine, waking up one morning having seen his father out in the forest shooting a deer. When his father came back with the bloody carcass, he fled to his mother, panicked and tearful. His mother sat him down, and gently explained to him the gift that ran through her family. He had the Sight, the ability to see what has been, what is, and what may be. 

 

She said that she had it too, but it was weak. Nothing like his. If her Sight was a spark, Stiles' was an inferno. She could read people's intentions, occasionally dream of the present, but never of the past and future. She held Stiles close, rubbed her hand up and down his back and called him her brave, special boy. She also told him that he could never tell anyone of his gift. When he asked why, she just looked at him sadly.

 

"Because my darling, not everyone is as kind and good as you. They will see only your power, and what it can give them. They will not see you."

 

Stiles hadn't understood what she meant at the time, but he never really got the chance to ask her because two months later she was gone. Dead, a victim of a sickness that had swept through their village. Stiles had been sitting right next to her when she took her last breath, and he hadn't moved from her bedside until his father got back from hunting.

 

Stiles had already begun Seeing in his dreams every night, and now he had no one to share them with. His father knew of his gift, but he did not know how to help him. Jonathan wasn't his wife, who would hold Stiles after a particularly scary or sad vision and coax him through dealing with the leftover emotions. The best he could do was keep his promise to his beloved Claudia, and take care of Stiles. 

 

Stiles managed to keep his Sight a secret until he was fifteen. He came home from school one day to the smell of smoke, and the orange glow of flames. His father was kneeling in front of the house, surrounded by men in black leather. Stiles didn't even try to run, just rushed to his father and made sure he was alright. 

 

He was pulled away, bound and thrown onto a horse. His father was yelling and struggling, pleading for them not to take his little boy. The last memory Stiles has of Jonathan Stilinski is one of the men hitting him over the head with a dagger, his cries for his son abruptly cut off as he slumped to the ground. 

 

The men rode for three days, stopping periodically to give Stiles food and water. They did not respond to his questions of who they were, or what they wanted. By the time they had reached the Argent Castle, Stiles had snuck a look into the eyes of one of the men in black and ascertained that they knew of his Sight. That knowledge sent tendrils of dread through his spine.

 

Stiles was brought before King Argent, and forced to kneel on his sore and blistered legs. He refused to look at him, had no desire to look into Gerard's dark eyes and See whatever madness lay in his mind. The King hadn't seemed to mind, merely appraising him. He had stood, and walked until his boots stopped directly under Stiles' head. 

 

"What's your name, Seer?" he asked, his raspy voice invoking a shudder in Stiles. 

 

Stiles didn't acknowledge the question, instead asking one of his own.

 

"How did you know I could See?" he said, his voice rough from disuse. That had earned him a kick to the stomach, and as he was hunched over and breathless from pain, Gerard answered.

 

"You are not the only one who has the Sight, boy. You just have the most power." he sneered. Another kick and Stiles was coughing and gasping for air. 

 

"Now, what is your name? I will not ask you again." Stiles gritted his teeth, spitting out blood onto the stone floor.

 

"My name is Stiles." he finally said. A hand yanked on his hair, pulling his face up to look at Gerard. Stiles had immediately closed his eyes, but another pull on his hair had them opening in pain. His eyes met the King's and a thousand pictures rushed through his mind. His vision whited out, consumed by hatred and memories of a sword plunging into the gut of a man clothed in armor, a woman with golden hair standing on a balcony, and a wolf with red eyes leaping towards him. 

 

When Stiles finally yanked himself out of his vision, he was in a dungeon. 

 

He stayed there for ten weeks. Each day, a man with silver glasses would come in and beat, burn, or cut Stiles. He never asked for information, just came and went in a blaze of pain and blood. 

 

And when Stiles came out, he didn't speak for the next three years.

 

\+ + +

 

"Stiles. Stiles, wake up!"

 

Stiles slowly opened his eyes, a woman tending to her garden fading behind his eyelids. The image had been slightly fuzzy, indicating that it was of the past. The familiar voice of one of his servants had pulled him from the quiet vision, and part of him yearned to be back with the woman. She had been content, and in that moment so had Stiles.

 

"Stiles, for God's sake, get up! The King has requested your presence for the meeting today, and you're going to be late if you don't hurry!" 

 

Stiles turned his head towards the feminine voice, looking at the bright red hair of Lydia Martin. He Saw into her eyes, suppressing the rush of images and only getting her feelings and intentions. Indeed, he was going to be late. He gave Lydia a small nod, and sat up in his bed. 

 

Today was an important day for the Argent Kingdom. They were hosting a War Council, discussing their plan of attack against the Hale Kingdom. The war between the two realms had been going on for six years, since before Stiles was taken. Katherine Argent, Gerard's eldest daughter, had tried to kill the entire Hale family whilst visiting to arrange a marriage between her and the Hale's eldest son, Derek. She had been caught, and executed. Gerard declared war the day after her death.

 

Stiles had been captured two years after that. 

 

"Hurry up now, Stiles. The King was very explicit in his instructions for you to be there on time. He won't start without you, and you do not want to keep him waiting." Lydia said, emerging from his closet with arms full of clothes and shoes. Stiles huffed, but did not try to refute her. He had long since learned to do what Gerard wanted.

 

"Come on, get out of bed. If you want to eat before the Council convenes, then you need to be downstairs in less than half an hour." Lydia said, pulling Stiles' covers off of his legs. Stiles merely nodded his head, and stood up off of the mattress. Lydia pulled off his nightclothes, barely flinching as she was confronted with the multitude of scars on Stiles' torso and legs. 

 

Stiles had grown used to the scars, welcomed them as a reminder of what would happen if he disobeyed. Lydia was the only servant who could stomach them though, and thus was delegated to dress him in the mornings. She flipped her fiery hair over her shoulder, and picked up the shirt that she had chosen. It was nothing special, a simple red tunic with brown stitching and little embroidery.  

 

Stiles pulled it over his head, and then took the brown trousers that Lydia had chosen. He tugged on his boots before standing up straight and looking Lydia dead in the eye. To her credit, Lydia didn't immediately look away, but Stiles could See her discomfort and unease. No one liked being Seen by Stiles, as they shouldn't. He could find their darkest secrets if he wanted to. He wouldn't purposely invade in innocent person's privacy like that, but he had never bothered to correct their fears. 

 

Lydia broke eye contact first, strutting her way over to the door and motioning to the guards. Stiles took that as his cue to follow, and stepped out of his room. Three guards were stationed to watch him at all times, black veils over their eyes so that Stiles couldn't See them. He could still sense if their intentions were good or not, but that was the extent of what he could detect.

 

The guards escorted him down to the dining hall, where a small plate of food lay on the huge wooden table stretching across the room. Stiles didn't even bother to sit, quickly eating the toast, eggs and juice. He had no desire to antagonize Gerard by making him wait. 

 

The guards walked him then to the Council Room, where a round table took up the center of the hall. Gerard sat with his back to the windowed wall, and his eyes met Stiles' as he entered the room. Stiles had long since learned to block out the rush of visions he would get from Gerard. He was repulsed every time he looked into the man's deranged mind, and had only really Seen him four times. 

 

Five other men sat around the table, but only two of them glanced at Stiles when he entered the room. Even then, they didn't dare look directly at him for fear of being Seen. Stiles respected their caution.

 

"Ah, Stiles."He flinched as Gerard's voice rang out in the quiet room. "Glad you could join us. We've been waiting for you." Stiles twitched, but managed not to wince. 

 

Gerard stood, and swept his arms wide. "Gentlemen, this is Stiles. During this meeting, every time you speak you will look directly at him. He will make sure you are not falsifying any information or trying to trick me in any way. You will not address him, however, and he will not address you." Gerard pulled out a chair next to his, motioning for Stiles to join him. 

 

The guards behind him melted away, and Stiles quickly walked over to the chair and sat down. Gerard placed a hand on his shoulder, a quick touch to remind Stiles of who held the power. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a violent flinch from the casual contact. The hand stayed on his shoulder for five seconds before finally retreating. 

 

"Now then. I call this Council to order." Gerard paused, and any remaining chatter in the room died. 

 

"Our topic of discussion is, of course, the war against the Hales. I have the Commander of my armies, Christopher, here to brief you of the happenings on the battlefield. You will then report to me the status of your kingdoms, and what you can offer in the next attack." Gerard laced his fingers together, his lip curled up into a small smirk.

 

"Christopher, if you please." A man on the other end of the table stood, papers spread out on the table in front of him. Christopher Argent was the Commander of the Argent Armies, and Gerard's son. Stiles did not hate Christopher as much as he hated Gerard, though they were both monsters in the guise of men.

 

Christopher cleared his throat, then looked directly at Stiles. Stiles numbly absorbed the wave that crashed through his mind, flashing images and thoughts for split seconds of time. He blocked out the bloody images of war and suffering.

 

"The Hales are strong. They fight as wolves with fangs and claws, then as humans with knives and swords. Queen Talia is vengeful and cunning, her husband just as much. Her children lead on the battlefield, Prince Derek and Princess Laura commanding their armies while Cora commands at the castle." Christopher paused, waiting as Stiles sifted through the visions that were accompanying his words. Once Stiles nodded to confirm his honesty, he continued. 

 

"They win more battles than they lose. They move too rapidly for our armies to prepare for, and they tire less quickly than humans. We've lost six thousand men to their two thousand, as our use of wolfsbane to weaken them can only do so much. We've been using our Seer to try to pinpoint their locations, and recently it has made a difference. But it is not enough. We need a divine move, something that will be a game changer. Gentlemen…" Christopher nodded his head, and sat back down. 

 

Stiles had Seen no falsehood in Christopher's reports. He made no movement to alert Gerard to any lies. The King simply nodded his head, and then turned his gaze to the man sitting with his back to the door. Harris, the tyrant who had hurt him in the dungeons for those many weeks. The man stood, and flicked his eyes towards Stiles. 

 

_A young boy swimming in a pond, a woman yelling at her husband, a dagger slicing through pale flesh, and bright green eyes flashing a bloody red._

 

"Thank you, Your Majesty. My men have yet to join the battle, but are less than a week away from Hale territory and are awaiting my orders to proceed. We're three thousand strong, and armed with wolfsbane daggers, swords, and lances. I eagerly await your command, Your Grace." Harris said. Stiles was detecting no maliciousness towards the King, but Harris' mind was dark and poisoned, filled with hatred for the Hales and their kind. Stiles suppressed a shudder as a hint of arousal followed a brief image of himself, and broke eye contact with Harris. He nodded to Gerard, who smiled.

 

"Good, thank you Lord Harris. We greatly appreciate your support in this war. You will receive your orders after the other gentlemen have spoken." he said. Harris nodded, and sat down. 

 

Another man stood up, this one much younger and more handsome than Harris. Stiles recognized him; Daniel Mahealani, Lord of the Southern Isles. Daniel didn't hesitate to make eye contact with Stiles, barely even reacting to his scars.

 

_A beautiful summer sun, an ocean as blue as the sky, a small brown wolf with yellow eyes, and -_

 

Stiles froze.

 

He distantly heard Lord Mahealani start to speak, but disregarded any rush of input.

 

The memories that had been flowing through him froze as well, paused on one particular image. The picture was blurry and nondescript, shifting and moving and never allowing a clear reading. Stiles couldn't See it. He thought about raising his hand to alert Gerard, but he wasn't truly sure what he was looking at. He had never encountered a memory he couldn't See, even if the person he was reading had long since forgotten it was there. 

 

Stiles couldn't get any intention off of the Lord, no indication as to whether he was telling the truth or lying. It unnerved him. He pulled himself away from the memories, choosing to instead just look at Lord Mahealani. 

 

Stiles only saw kindness in his warm brown eyes, and he emanated no hatred. Stiles briefly sifted through a few other memories, and could not find any prejudice towards wolves that would have led him to join forces with Gerard. The Lord had not broken eye contact, and looked to any outside observer to be the epitome of calm. But Stiles knew better. He Saw brief snatches of nervousness and anxiety, quickly covered up.

 

If Stiles had to guess, he would think that the Lord had encountered a Seer before and knew how to control his emotions. That raised alarm bells, but Stiles still did not want to raise his hand. He was technically not picking up anything directly treasonous, and the small part of him that still wanted to rebel against King Argent urged him to act as if nothing was wrong.

 

Stiles finally broke eye contact, realizing that Daniel had finished speaking. He sat there for a moment, and then nodded his head. 

 

Gerard thanked Lord Mahealani, and he sat back down.

 

Stiles watched Daniel for any reaction, but his outward body language did not change. Stiles resolved to keep an eye on him the entirety of his stay.

 

The rest of the meeting passed with no other discrepancies. Unsurprisingly, no man dared to lie in front of Stiles, and after about three hours the reports and small talks of strategy were finished. Gerard stood, and clasped his hands together in front of him.

 

"Thank you, gentlemen. I believe that this meeting is over for the day, and we shall reconvene tomorrow. If you wish, a servant will escort you to your rooms, or bring you to the dining hall for a late lunch." Servants appeared from the shadows of the room, nodding to their respective Masters.

 

"This Council is adjourned." The men all stood and bowed to the King, who did not acknowledge them. They left the room, idly chatting with other Lords or their servants.

 

Stiles did not move, waiting for Gerard to dismiss him.

 

"Thank you, Stiles. You've been most helpful during these meetings. It saves me the trouble of finding out where their true loyalties lie." Gerard said, his voice deceptively calm. Stiles knew better than to believe any kind words. 

 

Gerard reached over and put a hand on Stiles head, and Stiles fought to keep still as fingers lightly pulled on his hair. 

 

"You've been such a good boy for me today, Stiles. I'm glad to see that last night's… session had such a positive effect on you." Gerard said, almost happily. Like forcing Stiles to drive a man crazy by scrambling his memories brought him pleasure. Which it probably did.

 

Gerard stood there for a few moments, his hand still pulling upwards on Stiles' hair, before releasing him.

 

"You may retire to your room, Stiles. I will not be needing you until dinner." Stiles nodded, and hurried from the room.

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' hand touched Gerard's shoulder, and the giant window behind him exploded.

_…no, you don't understand! It is way too risky for us to send in a spy! Their Seer will know immediately, and Danny will be killed before he even opens his mouth." says a young woman, her dark black hair rippling down her back. Her eyes blaze with fury, red flickering in and out of her irises._

 

_An older woman with the same hair and eyes sits opposite her, calm where her counterpart is agitated._

 

_"Laura, we've been over this. I know it's dangerous, and I know that the last person you want going over there is Danny, but we need to do this." the woman says. Laura huffs, opening her mouth to retaliate. The woman cuts her off with a wave of her hand._

 

_"Their Seer is dangerous, yes, but that's rather the point, isn't it? We have no idea who he is, or what he looks like. We're not even totally sure of the extent of his Sight. But we've been losing battles where we should have been winning, failing ambushes where we should have blindsided our enemy and that is evidence enough of his power. Our armies are shrinking, and our wolves are dying. I will not allow this continue!" the woman finishes. Laura's face is starting to match her eyes._

 

_"Mother! I'm aware of our lost battles, I was there when we were being beaten, but - "_

 

_"If you were there, then you know that what we planned must be done!Daniel will be fine, and so will your brother. I will not continue to discuss this with you, Laura. I will not lose any more of our kind to the Argents."_

 

_Laura sits back, her fury seeming to ebb a little. Her mother relaxes as well, and continues with a softer tone._

 

_"Laura, I know you're scared. I know that you love Daniel, but he's the only one that can get in there undercover. He will be fine, and Derek will make sure nothing happens to him. They'll only be gone for five days, and they know how to shield themselves. Have faith, daughter." the woman finishes._

 

_Laura sighs, and her eyes fade back to their normal green._

 

_"I know, mother. I do have faith. Derek never fails a mission, and Danny can lie even to a wolf. I'm sorry I yelled at you." Laura says, her voice quiet and remorseful. Her mother smiles gently, and reaches towards her hand._

 

_"I know, Laura. Everything will be alright, I promise."_

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles didn't remember what he had dreamed. He had never, not in the nine years he'd been Seeing in his sleep, not remembered the vision he had witnessed. His mind was blank, like it'd been wiped clean of any evidence.

 

It was unsettling. After the incident with the hidden image in Lord Mahealani's mind, Stiles was on the alert. His stomach was churning, and he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever he had dreamed was incredibly important. He had never struggled with his Sight before, but two discrepancies in a row was highly unusual. 

 

It was always possible that he hadn't had a vision, but again considering that he hadn't had a regular dream in nine years, it was a small chance. Well, one is an incident, two is a coincidence. If it happened again, then Stiles would actually be worried. 

 

He spent most of his days asleep, or resting. Gerard slipped him medicine to make him tired, which he had discovered almost immediately. But if he was asleep, no one was hurting him. If he was asleep, he could live somebody else's life for just a brief moment, and could maybe feel happiness or hope. So he ate his food, took the medicine, and slept his days away.

 

His servants were under explicit instructions to never wake him if he was crying out or, in some cases, sleepwalking. He had often found himself in the gardens lying in a patch of flowers or leaning against a tree. Someone was always there to lead him back to his rooms, though. They never asked what he had Seen. 

 

Lydia was always outside his room, now probably waiting for him to wake up so that she could bring him to dinner. He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't have any mirrors in his room, per his request. He hated looking at his disfigured body, and the scars that painted his skin. A long one ran from between his eyes to below his right ear, and another sat above his left eyebrow; a jagged A, marking him as the property of the King. 

 

He hadn't looked at himself in a long time. He was pretty sure he had brown hair, but he couldn't remember what color his eyes were. No one told him, and he never asked. A barber came in every month or so and cut his hair, keeping it long enough to hold but much shorter than a woman's.

 

A knock on the door signaled that it was time for him to go to dinner, and he sat up. He was still in his clothes from the morning Council, so he bypassed his closet and went right out the door.

 

Lydia was there with with the guards, her arms crossed impatiently. She huffed as he appeared, and turned on her heel. Her hair flipped behind her and over her shoulder, like it was gesturing at him to follow. 

 

Gerard was sitting in the dining hall idly chatting with Lord Harris, who had seated himself to Gerard's left. The seat to the King's right was always reserved for Stiles. His food was already sitting on a plate for him, selected and drugged by the King.Stiles entered the room, ignoring how all conversations ceased as he walked slowly by. 

 

He avoided any eye contact with the visiting Lords, and sat down in his chair. Gerard didn't immediately acknowledge him, so he sat quietly and waiting to be told that he could eat. Gerard let out a raspy chuckle, and casually leaned to the side so that his mouth was near Stiles' ear. His breath trailed down Stiles' neck, hot and dry.

 

"You may go ahead and eat now, Stiles. I want you upstairs as soon as possible. I need the location of the next ambush by the Hales by tomorrow morning." Stiles gritted his teeth, resolutely not looking at Gerard. "Do you understand?"

 

He nodded his head slightly, and Gerard shifted back into his chair.

 

"Good boy."

 

Stiles just quietly ate his food, trying not to throw up. 

 

He felt a prickling feeling on his neck, and looked up only to see Lord Mahealani staring at him with a look of confusion on his face. Stiles looked directly into his dark brown eyes, but nothing came to him. Stiles reared back a little in shock, mouth falling open slightly. 

 

It was like Daniel was actually _blocking_ him, which should have been impossible. No one could hide their thoughts from Stiles' Sight, and many had tried. Stiles briefly battled with informing Gerard, but his fear of some being able to block him outweighed his hatred. He started to raise his hand to alert Gerard, and any trace of doubt about Lord Mahealani's intentions vanished when a surge of panic broke through whatever was blocking Daniel's mind from him at his movement. 

 

Stiles' hand touched Gerard's shoulder, and the giant window behind him exploded.

 

The shards flew inwards, and the crash of the explosion was followed by an earth-shattering roar. Screams from the terrified Lords and servants ripped through the air, and more snarls came from the window. Stiles had ducked his head down the moment the window exploded, his warning to Gerard forgotten. 

 

Dark shapes blurred around him, leaping over the table and then crashing to the floor. Gerard was up, his sword out and arcing through the air. Yelps and growls were coming from all around him. Stiles flinched when he felt a hand grasp his forearm, and a quick look showed that it was Lord Mahealani. Stiles tried to pull his arm away, but the hand on his arm merely tightened.

 

Daniel pulled him up roughly, ignoring his struggles, and started to drag him towards the shattered window. Stiles thrashed wildly, cries for help stuck in his throat. Gerard was distracted by a brown, hulking beast, and was currently plunging his sword into the creature's neck. Stiles wanted to throw up at the sight of its head rolling onto the floor, blood spattering both on marble and skin.

 

Daniel's hand pulled roughly one last time, and Stiles stumbled backwards, his hand landing on broken glass. A sharp pain bloomed on his palm, but still no sound came from his throat. 

 

His legs slipped out from under him, and he fell towards the floor. His head smashed into the window sill, and all he felt was a flash of intense pain before he was out.

 

\+ + +

 

_A young boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen, runs through the hallways of a beautiful castle. A girl chases after him, about the same in age and in looks. They race through the corridors, shouting at each other and teasing._

 

_As the boy rounds a corner, he bends over and his palms hit the floor. He runs for a few paces with the awkward gait, then black fur sprouts all over his body, and his face and torso morph into a wolf. His legs are the last to transform, but the process is still elegant and he never breaks stride._

 

_The girl makes a noise of outrage._

 

_"Derek, that's cheating! You know I haven't learned how to do that yet!" the girl yells, her face turning red._

 

_The wolf yips, and lifts his tail into the air. He looks over his shoulder, and his red eyes hold a challenge. The girl grits her teeth, and fur begins slowly sprouting from her face._

 

_But the hair had not grown on her arms before the sound of a door opening distracts them both. They scramble to a stop, and a woman's voice comes from behind them._

 

_"Derek, change back right now! You know that your sister hasn't been able to complete her shift yet, and you're just being rude. Laura, get rid of your fur, you look ridiculous only half transformed." The wolf whines, but he shifts back to a human. Laura looks half contrite and half indignant, but the hair on her face disappears._

 

_"Thank you." the woman says. "Now, Miss Argent will be here any moment, so I don't want you two running around like children! Especially you, Derek. You know how important this is." Her voice is stern, but not unkind. Derek nods, his cheeks flaming red._

 

_"Now, go clean up. Miss Argent isn't going to want to marry either of you if you look like you've just had a romp in the woods. Be quick, and Laura, make sure Derek wears something that doesn't look like a toddler chose it." the woman says, to her delight and to Derek's horror._

 

_"Mother!" he complains, his eyes flash red. The woman flashes her red eyes back._

 

_"Now, Derek Hale! Don't make me actually order you."_

 

_Derek pauses for a moment, seemingly wanting to fight back, but eventually just stalks away. Laura glances back at her mother, then hurries after him. The door that the woman was talking through closes._

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles' eyes flew open, and then immediately closed as the back of his head throbbed. The vision resonated in his mind, but he couldn't focus on what had actually happened. Every time he tried, the pain seemed to grow stronger. 

 

He raised his hand up to his face, gently rubbing his eyes and opening them to slowly let the light in. It wasn't as bright as he had originally thought, but his heart started to beat faster as he realized that he didn't recognize the ceiling above him.

 

He glanced around, and forced himself to sit up. The softness he had been laying on proved itself to be a small bed, tucked into the corner of a room that was a fourth of the size of his old quarters. There were no windows, and one door that had no handle. The room was empty besides the bed, the stone floor gray and bland. 

 

The events at dinner flew back into his mind. Stiles threw his feet over the mattress and onto the floor, shivering as his feet touched the cold surface. He realized that he had been changed into light blue cotton pants, and a plain white long sleeved tunic. He was grateful for the cover so that his scars weren't in plain view. 

 

Just as he had finally managed to stand up without falling over, the door opened with a deep clang and a curly-haired man walked in. Stiles jerked his head up, staring straight into the other's eyes.

 

And then immediately shut his eyes and felt a scream build in his throat.

 

The pain in his head multiplied by a thousand, and his world spiraled into agony. It was a constant stream, encompassing everything with hurt. But just as quickly as the pain began, it was gone, and Stiles felt like he could breath again. 

 

As awareness trickled back, he realized that he had crumpled to the ground, and when he opened his eyes again it seemed as if the man had been expecting this. He didn't look concerned, nor did he attempt to help Stiles. In fact, he looked slightly smug.

 

"It looks like Deaton's spell worked. Good to know my mind is safe from your tricks." the man said, his voice sounding begrudgingly impressed. Stiles kept his gaze on the floor, carefully avoiding his eyes. The man tutted.

 

"Now now, theres no need to avoid looking at me. It won't happen every time you make eye contact with someone. They have to activate the spell in order for the pain to kick in." he paused, still staring right at Stiles. Stiles tentatively flicked his eyes up, and tensed. When nothing happened, the man smirked.

 

"But you still won't get anything. Can't let you figure out our plans now can we." He started walked towards Stiles, who scrambled back towards the wall. The man halted, raising his hands so his palms were facing Stiles.

 

"I won't hurt you again. The King and Queen requested your presence, and I've been asked to bring them to you." He waited, but when Stiles made no move to get up, he sighed.

 

"Alright, fine. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I just had to make sure that you knew the score." His eyes moved across Stiles face, and Stiles felt his face burn with a blush, knowing he was looking at his scars.

 

The man took another cautious step forwards, then another as Stiles didn't react. 

 

"Look, my name's Isaac. I really don't want to hurt you, and I won't as long as you behave. Nobody else wishes you any harm, either. They just want to meet you, see how your Sight works. That's all." Stiles could hear the unspoken 'and assess exactly how dangerous you are and how we can use you'. But, Isaac seemed to be telling the truth, so he allowed him to step closer.

 

Isaac seemed to let out a sigh of relief, and bent down. He pulled Stiles up gently, and pulled him towards the door. No one was outside, which Stiles found odd, and Isaac seemed to pick up on his confusion.

 

"We don't have many guards. We're almost all wolves here, so we can hear and smell any trouble." Stiles didn't react, just looked around at the corridors. They were familiar, the same ones from his last vision. They walls were decorated with paintings depicting wolves in bloody battles, and beautiful woman doing various activities with the creatures. Stiles shuddered at the imagery. 

 

Isaac glanced at him from time to time, observing his movements.

 

"You don't talk much, do you?" Stiles' gaze snapped to him, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Isaac frowned at his reaction, and tilted his head slightly.

 

"Can you talk?" he asked, then paused as if he was listening for something. Stiles swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and just looked away. That seemed like a good enough answer for Isaac, who didn't say anything else.

 

Isaac steered him towards a large wooden door, and Stiles could hear talking behind it. The voice seemed agitated, high in pitch and quickly paced. Isaac didn't look too concerned though, and didn't hesitate in opening the door.

 

Five heads simultaneously turned towards him, and Stiles shrank back from the unwanted attention. Isaac pulled gently on his arm, and walked him forwards.

 

Stiles recognized three of the people; Queen Talia sat on her throne, Princess Laura stood in front of her, and Lord Mahealani stood to the side. Stiles wasn't too surprised to see Daniel, but he was sightly bitter that he had managed to get passed his Sight. Daniel looked a little apologetic, but Stiles refused to even glance at him. 

 

The two other people in the room were undoubtedly Hales. The man sitting next to Queen Talia had to be King Robert, so the man standing next to Laura had to be Prince Derek. Stiles felt a rush of fear, and his heartbeat kicked up. These monsters were Gerard's enemies, and he was at their mercy.

 

Stiles didn't particularly want to go back to Gerard, but he sure didn't want to be here either.

 

The silence that had enveloped the room when Stiles entered was broken by the King, who stood up slowly. 

 

"Thank you, Isaac. You may let him go now." Isaac's hand removed itself from Stiles' arm. Stiles automatically took a step away, prompting a growl from Derek. Stiles flinched backwards, and his heart skipped a beat. The Queen flashed her red eyes, and the growling stopped. 

 

"Derek! You're scaring him. Behave yourself, you're not a teenager anymore." she said, her tone scolding. Derek crossed his arms, his eyes, flicking lightly between red and light green.

 

"I don't see why a little fear is bad. He serves Gerard, he's the enemy." Derek grumbled, his voice deep and smooth. Stiles felt himself shiver, but he straightened his spine and looked directly at Derek. 

 

Derek seemed to sense Stiles' gaze, and he turned away from his parents to face him. When their eyes met, Stiles reflexively braced for the rush of images, and huffed lowly when they were blocked. Derek's face flashed from annoyed, to shocked, to confused. His eyes passed over Stiles' face just as Isaac's had. 

 

Stiles wanted to curl up into a ball and hide from his piercing gaze.

 

"What happened to your face?" Derek asked, looking like he had surprised himself by saying anything.

 

Stiles bit his lower lip, and looked down at the floor while his neck and cheeks flushed. Isaac cleared his throat, and the attention shifted to him.

 

"He can't speak. I don't know why, but he hasn't said a word, not even when I, er, _tested_ the spell. I don't know his name, either."

 

"It's Stiles." Stiles looked up at the sound of Daniel's voice, and to his credit he still seemed remorseful. "I heard Gerard say it during the meeting." 

 

Derek grunted, and didn't press for his question to be answered. 

 

The King nodded. He descended from his throne, walked steadily towards him. Stiles fought the urge to shy away. King Robert didn't seem afraid of him, maintaining eye contact as he moved. His eyes didn't flash, staying on a brown the color of milk chocolate. He looked remarkably like Derek, both of them sporting black stubble and short hair. He stopped in front of Stiles, his hands loosely clasped in front of him.

 

"Well then, Stiles. I wish we could have met in better circumstances. I apologize for any trauma we may have caused you, but at the risk of sounding insensitive, it looks as if you are no stranger to pain." 

 

Stiles refused to let himself flinch. 

 

"Now, seeing as you can't talk, I'm going to ask you a few questions, and I'd like for you to nod for yes and shake your head for no. Can you do that?" the King asked, surprisingly gentle.

 

Stiles was surprised at being asked if he was ok with something. Gerard always just took, never requested permission. He had been expecting Robert to be just another tyrant, but so far the Hales had not been living up to their monstrous reputation.

 

"Stiles?" Robert prompted. Stiles shook himself, and nodded. Robert smiled a little at that.

 

"Ok. Before we begin, would you like to sit? This may take a while, depending on your answers." Again, Stiles didn't know what to make of King Robert's inquiry. It didn't make sense. He could just make Stiles sit, if that was what he wanted. Stiles was tired though, and his head was still hurting a little. He nodded, and the King mimicked the movement.

 

"Isaac, please pull a chair from the tables over. You may also get one for yourself, if you are so inclined." Isaac hurried to do as the King asked, and pulled a wooden chair from one of the many surrounding tables in the room. 

 

Stiles slowly sat in the chair, watching the King closely for any signs of displeasure or violence. Seeing none, he allowed himself to relax slightly.

 

"Alright. Just a reminder, I can hear if you lie, and even if I don't want to I will not hesitate to activate the spell that my Wizard has cast upon you. Be honest, and this will go quickly and painlessly." 

 

Stiles clenched his teeth at the thought of feeling that agonizing pain again, and resolved to be as truthful as possible. 

 

"First, I want to correct an assumption that was made about you that now does not seem true. Daniel pointed this out to me, and at first I didn't believe him. But seeing you here in front of me, I can finally see what he had observed." The King paused, and Stiles blinked in confusion.

 

"Did Gerard torture you into serving him?"

 


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the questions that Stiles had expected, or prepared for, that was not one of them.

 

Of all the questions that Stiles had expected, or prepared for, that was not one of them. 

 

In his experience, the world was not a nice place. It took his mother, then his father, and then him. He hid himself for six years and then spent the next three trapped in his own mind, his body riddled with scars and wounds. No one showed him kindness, because he was nothing more to them than his ability to see what was hidden from plain view. 

 

And this man, this _King_ , decided he had the audacity to care, to find the person behind the power and offer them kindness. The feeling was foreign to Stiles, having something think of him and how he felt. Normally he was only shown kindness before everything got immeasurably worse. 

 

But as he stared into King Robert's light brown eyes, searching for anything to hint at foul intent or cruelty, he could not find anything but gentle understanding. His Sight was no help to him, no longer giving him a hint as to what this man was truly thinking. But somehow, Stiles didn't need the hint. He already knew.

 

So he looked inside himself, and searched for something. He searched for who he was before Gerard, before he was a damaged instrument to be used at someone else's will. He dug down and looked for courage, and bravery, anything that would make his head move up and down. 

 

KIng Robert let Stiles search for a moment longer, then cleared his throat quietly.

 

"Stiles?" he said, his voice low and gentle.

 

Stiles blinked, and the urge to move suddenly built. Pressure surged upwards in his chest, traveling up to his neck and head. He let the intensity build, gathering up the courage that he had found hiding deep down, and let his chin drop to his chest. The energy released, and when he looked back up King Robert looked grim.

 

The man merely nodded, and stood up to his full height. His jaw was set, and a muscle in his cheek was twitching.

 

"Thank you, Stiles. Whether you think so or not, that is very useful information." Stiles just looked at him, wide eyed and cautious. He glanced at the others who were still in the room, and they were looking anywhere but at him. 

 

All except for Derek.

 

Derek was staring at him, his eyebrows furrowed and the skin between them lined with wrinkles. He looked angrily confused, like Stiles was a puzzle that he was desperate to figure out but couldn't quite find the last few pieces. It made Stiles shiver. 

 

"Stiles? I'm going to ask you a few more questions, and I'd appreciate it if you answered them." Stiles flicked his gaze back to King Robert, and jerked his head downwards to signal his understanding.

 

The King went through several questions that were in much more familiar territory for Stiles. Did he know who Gerard's spies were, _Nod_ , could he reveal the location of Gerard's next attack, _Nod,_ would he be willing to write this information down, _Nod._

 

After about fifty or so questions, Stiles was starting to droop. He was exhausted, scared, and his head hurt, and his responses were showing it. The King seemed to notice it, and finally let out a deep breath. His entire posture relaxed, like a great weight had been taken off of his shoulders. 

 

Stiles was fighting his drowsiness, forcing his eyes open to keep his guard up. He couldn't afford to be blindsided, even if he doubted that the Hales would do that. He watched as the King walked to his family, who were lounging in chairs that Isaac had pulled over around question twenty six. He conferred with the quietly, each of them occasionally glancing at Stiles as they murmured. 

 

Derek did not join in. He just sat there, staring at Stiles. 

 

Stiles stared right back.

 

God, Derek's thoughts were right there, swirling in his beautiful eyes, and Stiles couldn't see them. He was so close, but the remaining space between him and the images was infinite. King Hale started to speak again, but Stiles tuned him out. He couldn't look away from the light green that was in front of him, condensed into two tiny orbs that held mystery and danger. 

 

Distantly Stiles could hear Isaac talking to him, asking him if he was alright. He ignored the question, but he stood. He stumbled a little as his tired legs threatened to give out, and the floor was suddenly rushing towards him. 

 

Almost immediately, he felt warm hands wrap around his arms, holding him up. Stiles leaned heavily into them, his head bumping into something soft and solid. Another voice registered in his ears, this one low and very close. It sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes were closed, and the thing he was leaning on was so comfortable. He stopped trying to hold himself up and relaxed hisbody, allowing the object to support him.

 

The hands around his arms slid lower, and his feet left the ground. His left arm and torso were now pressed against the solid mass, and an arm was curled around his shoulders and under his knees. He could feel himself swaying gently, like he was being carried, and the same low voice rumbled in the background. It was soothing, and that was such a foreign thing to Stiles. Nothing in his life was pleasurable, or nice, or comfortable. But whatever, whoever, was holding him, was good. And that…

 

That was terrifying. But so, so beautiful.

 

Stiles fell asleep, and for the first time in nine long and lonely years, he did not dream.

 

\+ + +

 

Derek was angry.

 

No scratch that, he was furious. He had been so sure that taking the Seer had been the right call, so confident that the person sabotaging his army, killing his kin, was a monster that he had no qualms about forcibly taking them. He had snuck into Argent's castle, hid himself in the cellars for days, and waited until Danny gave him the signal. Taking the Seer had been quick and surprisingly easy, and Derek had felt no guilt.

 

But the boy that was lying in one of the guest rooms was not a villain. He was not cruel, he was not malicious; he was _scared_. His scent was rank with fear and pain, and it made Derek's skin crawl. 

 

The scars that marred the Seer's skin were an unexpected and terrible surprise. They were all over his arms and legs, and a few were etched onto his face. They contrasted with the soft features of the boy's youth, harsh lines in soft clay. His wolf, previously howling for blood, now wanted to curl around the boy and never let him up. 

 

He didn't know what do to. 

 

For God's sake, the kid's name was _Stiles_. There was no way that the malevolent and hell-raising Seer that Derek had expected to find was this broken and beautiful creature. But broken or not, Derek should not have been feeling such a strong pull towards Stiles. It made no sense.

 

Stiles was a total stranger, and here Derek was, never wanting to let him out of his sight. When Stiles had collapsed, Derek didn't even remember moving. He was on one side of the room one moment, and holding Stiles up the next. His first instinct had been to drop him, but when Stiles' scent hit his nose, he nearly collapsed himself.

 

Stiles had been far enough away that Derek could only smell his pain, fear, and uncleanliness. But so close, Stiles' base scent was detectable. Derek had no words to describe what he smelled, but he knew that he would never forget it. It was just _right_ , and clicked into place inside him. Now that he was whole, he could't believe he had ever been missing something and not known it.

 

Derek hadn't even consulted his father, he had just started walking out of the throne room. Stiles even smelled exhausted, and his body was completely limp. Derek walked slowly to Stiles' room, but after seeing only a small cot in the bare room, Derek made the decision to lay Stiles in a guest room. 

 

Stiles had been a victim just like the rest of them, and he did not deserve Derek's hatred. 

 

Derek's heart ached for the boy. And that was very, very strange. Derek did not have empathy, and he did not allow himself to care for anyone that was outside his family. After Kate had seduced him and nearly killed his entire family, he was rightfully hesitant to trust any outsiders. 

 

But the boy laying in his arms was different. He had been beaten, abused and hurt for years, and his face was one of someone who had given up. He was not working an angle or looking for a loophole. And Derek didn't know how to react to that.

 

Derek found himself in the guest room that was nearest to his, and he couldn't remember walking there. But it was a good room, and Stiles would be comfortable here. Derek lay him on the bed, and pulled the covers over his curled body. The boy looked so small, lying there on soft blue sheets. Derek could see the matted hair on the back of his hair, probably from blood. 

 

Derek's hand reached out of its own accord, and sucked the pain from the bump. The black tendrils appeared on his arm, and Derek was surprised at how much pain there actually was. Stiles had been suffering from a pretty serious headache the entire time, and he had done nothing that gave away his pain. 

 

Derek waited until the blackness traveling up his arm was a light gray, then he pulled his hand away and hurriedly left the room.

 

Laura was waiting for him when he got back to his own bedroom.

 

"Derek, what the hell was that? You didn't even hear Dad when he was talking to you, and then you just turned your back on him! What is so special about this kid?" she asked, her frustrated confusion evident in her voice. Derek ignored her, pulling his clothes off and replacing them with his pajamas. 

 

"I mean, I'm your twin and I've never seen you act like that. You just met the poor kid, and you were convinced up until 12 hours ago that he was a murdering psychopath! I mean, honestly Der, there's being sorry for assuming that he was a sorry excuse for a human being, but you're acting like he's-"

 

"Laura!" Derek snapped, cutting her off. Laura immediately pouted. 

 

"Don't 'Laura' me, Der! Just tell me why you're being like this! Maybe I can help you-"

 

Derek silenced her with a small roar, and he knew his eyes were red.

 

"I don't know! I don't know why I ignored Dad, I don't know why I don't hate him, I don't know why my wolf wants to be with him and never let him go! I. Don't. Know!" he shouted. Laura's face mirrored his shock at his outburst. Silence echoed in the room, and a few seconds passed before Derek sighed. He felt the fight leave his body, and his head dipped low. 

 

"I don't know," he whispered. "and I don't know what's wrong with me."

 

\+ + +

 

When Stiles woke, he didn't know where he was. He was never someone who woke up slowly, and took his time to orient himself in the world of reality. He knew immediately that he was not on the same bed that he had originally woken up in. This one was soft and high quality, clearly not his cot. 

 

He opened his eyes fully, and saw that the sheets he was laying on were a soft blue. Definitely not his old cot. He sat up, and was surprised to find himself in a room much nicer than the last. 

 

He barely remembered being carried here. He vaguely remembered a deep voice and warmth, but that's it. It unnerved him that he had allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of the people who had kidnapped him, but they weren't exactly the typical kidnappers. They didn't seem like they wanted to hurt him, but they also hadn't removed the spell that was so effectively blocking his Sight. 

 

Stiles swung his legs over the bed, and slowly stood. When his head didn't throb, he frowned in confusion and lifted his hand to his hair. The blood was still there, but only a small pang of pain greeting him upon contact. Shrugging, Stiles let his hand flop back down. 

 

He surveyed the room, and spied a small drawer against the wall. He didn't want to wear the blue pants anymore, so he walked over to the bureau and opened up the first drawer. There were a few dusty shirts but no pants. The second drawer held almost the same, but the third drawer contained very soft black pants. Stiles picked the one that looked the smallest and replaced the blue pants with them. They were still quite large, but extremely soft. 

 

Stiles heard the door behind him open, and he turned around abruptly. He backed up, ready to defend himself. But it was only Isaac, who gave him a small smile when he saw Stiles' new pants.

 

"Good, you found them. I stole them from Derek, I hope you don't mind." he said, somewhat sheepishly. Stiles didn't acknowledge the admission, just stared warily at Isaac. Isaac didn't wait for a reply, he just stepped inside the room and opened up the door all of the way.

 

"The Family is waiting for you in the dining room. They're expecting you down in ten." At Stiles' widened eyes, Isaac hurried to assure him.

 

"Oh, don't worry, they won't do anything if you're late. They just hope you'll be down. I can show you to the bathroom." He walked out the door, and threw one last phrase over his shoulder. 

 

"Oh, and they wanted me to warn you that you're going to be asked to write out responses to their questions, so I hope your handwriting is legible." Stiles didn't really know how to respond to that. Gerard had forced him to write down his visions, leaning over his shoulder as Stiles scratched out his answers on a piece of parchment. If his handwriting had been unreadable, Gerard would take him into the dungeons for a… _session_ , and by the time Stiles could write again his handwriting was perfect. 

 

He didn't think the Hales would do the same, but he was making no assumptions.

 

Stiles hurried to follow Isaac to the bathroom, not wanting to be late even if Isaac had a assured him that the Hales were merely making a suggestion. He was finished in seven minutes, and was entering the room in nine. Only Talia, Robert, and Derek were sitting there, Laura and Danny nowhere to be seen.

 

Stiles saw a place that was clearly meant for him, food already sitting on a plate. It was to the left of King Robert, directly across from Derek. Stiles gulped and sat down gingerly. He avoided eye contact with anyone, especially Derek, and waited for the King to tell him to eat.

 

"Ah, Stiles, welcome. I know you're probably hungry, and I hope that what we have prepared is to your liking." Robert said, smiling broadly. Stiles gave a short nod, but still did not eat. There was a slightly awkward pause as the three wolves waited for Stiles to dig in, and Talia hesitantly broke the silence.

 

"…Stiles? Is something wrong? Do you want something else?" she asked tentatively. Stiles shook his head, a little confused. Didn't she know that her husband had to give Stiles permission? He raised his hand, and tried to mime using a quill. Talia understood quickly, and motioned her hand towards a servant. They brought forward a piece of parchment and a quill, already inked, and Stiles pressed it to the paper. The letters flowed out of the feather, and he turned the paper towards the King.

 

_You haven't given me permission to eat yet._

 

The King looked bemused. "Why would I have to give you permission?" He tilted his head, but Talia's face was one of horrified realization.

 

"Stiles…did Gerard make you wait to be told you could eat?" she asked quietly. Stiles nodded, and a loud clang came from across the table. Stiles flinched and looked up at Derek. Derek had dropped his fork onto the table, and his knuckles were white from how tightly they were gripping his knife. Stiles felt himself flush, his cheeks and ears burning.

 

The King wiped a hand over his face. "Dear God, that man is a monster." He sighed, and looked directly at Stiles. "Stiles, you don't have to wait for me to give you permission to eat. It is your choice whether or not you do, and I cannot and will not control that." Stiles searched for any lies, but the King's face was open. Stiles turned the paper back around, and scribbled another question.

 

_Did you drug it?_

 

"No! Of course not, why would we ever do that?" Talia said, her face matching her husband's disgusted disbelief. Stiles frowned, and his quill again touched the paper.

 

_Gerard wanted me to sleep as much as possible. I See when I sleep, so he made sure I was always tired. If I didn't take the drug, he would hit me until I fell unconscious._

 

A loud scraping noise echoed in the room, and Stiles watched as Derek stalked out of the doorway. He could see Derek's claws protruding from his fingertips, curled into his palms and pressing tightly. The slam of the door rang in the horrified silence of the room.

 

Stiles hung his head. He had done something to upset Derek. There was no way the Hales would let that go. He saw movement from the corner of his eye, and prepared for the hit that he expected was coming. 

 

What he got made him freeze.

 

Warm arms enveloped him, and the comforting scent of lavender invaded his nose. It took him a moment to realize that Queen Talia was hugging him, her head resting on top his his. He didn't know how to react to a touch that was not violent. 

 

"Oh, you poor thing. God, how long were you with that horrible tyrant?" she whispered, and the low tone of her voice made Stiles want to both relax and tense up. Kind words had always prefaced painful blows, but the Hales had yet to really hurt him. Talia's embrace felt so achingly similar to his mother's that his eyes burned with unshed tears. 

 

Talia, like she sensed his distress, rubbed her hand down his back. He shivered as her hand ran unknowingly over his scars. Such a soft caress over places marred by horrible violence was too much, and Stiles shuddered. Talia's grip tightened briefly, but she let go as her husband cleared his throat.

 

"Let the poor boy go, Talia. He probably hasn't been touched by someone meaning no harm in a long time." Talia sniffed, and went back to her chair. Stiles rubbed his cheeks, surprised to find no wetness. The King shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable.

 

"Stiles, please feel free to eat. I know you must be starving." Stiles eyed him, and tentatively picked up his fork. Now that he had food in front of him, he suddenly felt ravenous. He gently speared a bite of soft yellow eggs, and brought it up to his mouth. As his lips closed over the lump, the door behind him slammed open again. Hurriedly swallowing the admittedly delicious bite, Stiles turned towards the door.

 

Derek was back, looking much more composed. His eyes avoided Stiles' as he returned to his seat and picked up his fork. Talia and Robert eyed him with concern.

 

"Derek, dear, are you alright?" Talia asked.

 

Derek grunted out a stilted "I'm fine" then resumed eating. Talia pursed her lips, but turned back to Stiles. Her eyes and mouth softened.

 

"Stiles, I hate to ask you to do this, but after breakfast would it be alright if you wrote down a few things for us? There's a few things that Robert and I need to know that yes or no answers won't cover." Stiles furrowed his brow as he chewed on a piece of toast. He picked up the quill and quickly wrote a question.

 

_Why are you asking me? It's not like I have a choice_

 

Talia frowned, a sad look spreading over her face.

 

"Stiles-"

 

"You always have a choice!" Derek snapped. Stiles stared at him, wide eyed at his outburst. Derek looked furious.

 

"We won't make you do anything you don't want to. We may be wolves, but we're not monsters." he said, his voice booming. Stiles was tempted to look down in submission, but Talia's reaction to Derek's earlier exit made him doubt that anything less than total surrender would mean torture. Stiles held Derek's now bloody gaze, and watched the red slowly gave way to his natural light green. Silence reigned for a full minute before the King cleared his throat.

 

"Thank you, Derek. Stiles, while my son's tact could use a little work, what he says is true. We will not force you to do anything you do not wish to do. We promise, we won't hurt you for telling us no." Stiles wrote down another question.

 

_Then why have you blocked my Sight?_

 

The King almost looked ashamed, but that was such an odd look on such a powerful man that Stiles dismissed it as a trick of the light.

 

"I'm sorry Stiles, but we couldn't risk you being able to look into our minds. We were afraid you would use what you Saw against us." Robert said, looking a little uncomfortable. "Though, I now doubt that you would do anything to hep Gerard. I can have my Wizard take the spell off of you tonight, if you wish." Stiles nodded his head quickly, and Robert smiled at him gratefully. 

 

"Now, eat up. You're going to need your strength. The next few hours won't be easy, I'm sorry to say. You'll need all of the energy you can possibly get." he said. Stiles nodded again, and dug into his eggs. He could feel Derek staring at him, and he glanced up occasionally to meet Derek's gaze. As Stiles looked into Derek's eyes, he resolved to find them again as soon as he had his Sight back.

 

Stiles had a feeling that when he did See them, that Derek's thoughts would be absolutely breathtaking.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been on his toes for the good part of three years and he was tired. God, he was so tired.

The Hales let him take his time with his breakfast, even offering him seconds. Stiles declined, feeling slightly uncomfortable with having so much freedom. They didn't push, though, even if they didn't really understand his confusion and reluctance.

 

Stiles often looked up to find Derek staring at him. His gaze was unwavering and had the unabashed intensity of a Royal. Stiles always looked down when their eyes met, his scars feeling like they were burning.

 

Once the King had finished eating and the servants had cleared their places, a very long piece of paper and a small ink pot were brought in from one of the side doors. They were placed in front of Stiles, and the used paper was taken away. Stiles looked at the King in confusion. Robert laced his fingers together, his features turning more serious.

 

"Stiles, I want to discuss something with you. It is clear to me that you have suffered many horrors at the hands of King Gerard, but I do not know the specifics." Stiles bit his lip anxiously as the King paused. Derek shifted in the corner of his eye.

 

"If it is alright with you, I would like you to write down how you came to be Gerard's prisoner. We mean you no harm, and we want to make you as comfortable as possible. If you could also explain the extent of your Sight it would be most helpful." Stiles felt a swirl of nausea. He didn't think he could write down his experience in his own personal hell for the last three years. He could barely even think about it. But he also didn't want to give no information to the King, who had so far only showed him kindness and understanding. 

 

So he dipped the quill in the ink, and scribbled out a quick message.

 

_I can tell you how my Sight works._

 

The King's eyes flicked over the words and his face fell slightly, but he did not try to change Stiles' mind.

 

"Then, would you be willing to share why you cannot speak?" Stiles furrowed his brow. That was straying dangerously close to bad memories, but he supposed he could be as vague as he wanted to be. His quill touched the paper again.

 

_It's not due to an injury._

 

Robert sighed, and Derek huffed quietly. Talia just looked at Stiles sadly. They all seemed like they didn't believe him, but still they did not press. Robert nodded his head decisively, and straightened his shoulders.

 

"Thank you, Stiles. If it's alright with you, Talia and I have some business to take care of. Derek will stay in here with you while you write, so just give him the paper when you're done." Stiles nodded his head without being prompted, which seemed to please the King. 

 

Talia stood first, smoothing her skirts down slowly and stepping away from her chair. Robert joined her, and his arm slipped around her waist. Stiles watched them, slightly shocked at their show of affection. Gerard never had a lover, so he wouldn't have seen much anyways, but the casual way they absentmindedly touched each other was a sight that Stiles had not seen before, even in Court. 

 

The door closed behind the two royals, the collision of wood on metal ringing in the silence. Stiles fidgeted, flicking his eyes up and down to glance at Derek. He rolled the feather between his thumb and forefinger. He wasn't quite sure where to start and Derek sitting there staring at him wasn't helping him think. 

 

When Derek said and did nothing, Stiles set his shoulders and straightened his back. He dipped the quill in the ink pot and started writing. The words struggled to come out, his handwriting jerky and messy. He had never explained his Sight to someone before. Gerard had already had the knowledge, probably from the Seer that had found Stiles originally, so explaining was never an issue. 

 

Stiles also wasn't really sure exactly how his power worked. He had accepted that it was a part of him and that had been it. Explaining it to someone who had never experienced it was difficult, but he refused to let his relative ignorance stop him from writing. All thoughts of Derek and his unrelenting stare left his mind and eventually he stopped forcing his hand to write. 

 

The black lines were flowing a little more easily onto the paper, and slowly 

but surely the paper filled up. He ignored the cramp forming in his hand from the unfamiliar movement of writing, focusing on not leaving anything out.

 

He wasn't sure when he had decided that he would allow the Hales to understand his power. It was probably somewhere between Derek's eyes and Talia's hugs. Stiles still didn't fully trust Robert Hale on the basic principle that he was a King, and that prejudice wouldn't go away for a while. But something about the Hales just made Stiles want to put his guard down. 

 

He knew he couldn't, not while his Sight was still blocked, but oh how he wished he could. He had been on his toes for the good part of three years and he was tired. God, he was so tired. His mind, his body, his soul, they were all weary and strained. He couldn't remember what it felt like to truly relax. He had really only ever felt safe curled up in his mother's lap while she whispered into his ear tales of beautiful memories and happy families. 

 

And now he was in the castle of his enemies - no, _Gerard's_ enemies, and he was spilling his darkest secrets. He was giving them the key to his everything, and he found that he just didn't care. Gerard had kicked and punched the fight out of him a long time ago, had turned him into the perfect weapon. He had no guarantee that Robert wasn't trying to do the same thing, just using honey instead of vinegar. 

 

Well, no guarantee except the man sitting across from him. Stiles didn't know how he knew, but he was sure that Derek wasn't going to trick him. He didn't need his Sight to tell him that.

 

\+ + +

 

Gerard didn't know what to do, and that was an odd feeling for him.

 

He had been in power since he had turned eighteen, high on the stature that the throne and crown gave him. He ruled his people with dignity and grace, and he knew that his Kingdom was thriving. He had advisors all around him, but he never called on them. They were merely there to give the illusion that he was a fair man, willing to consult others and include them in his plans.

 

He impregnated some whore from a supposedly prestigious family, and she gave him his beautiful children, Katherine and Christopher. They were everything he ever wanted and more, the perfect vassals. They were unerringly loyal, and ruthless killers. Christopher was born to lead an army, and Katherine was a master seductress. They were the ultimate pair. 

 

When Gerard found out about the Hale Kingdom, he was revolted. These animals, these _monsters_ , were governing an entire realm? He wanted them extinguished, wiped from the Earth.

 

So he planned.

 

Katherine was his ace in the hole, his checkmate. He was confident that she would not fail, could not foresee any way that she would not succeed in killing the entire Hale line. The young Prince Derek was the perfect in, naive and impressionable. He would stand no chance when presented with Katherine's wild beauty.

 

But that was before Gerard got the letter. His Katherine, his own daughter, was dead. Slaughtered, accused of treason and attempted murder. He lost his temper for the first time in forty years, and declared war on the Hales. He felt no grief, only boiling anger. He was filled with hatred, a burning emphatic _need_ for revenge. He called on all of his allies, old and new, and rallied them. He built up his armies, trained his men, and hit the ground running.

 

He threw himself into strategizing, pushing himself and Christopher to their limits. His goal was to win, to annihilate the Hales and conquer their Kingdom. When the wolves showed their claws, he coated his weapons in wolfsbane. When they drew their swords, he sent his men into battle confident that they would end up victorious.

 

He thought that he had all that he needed to win. Until he stumbled across a young woman who knew everything about him. She was no one, a filthy peasant who belonged in the dirt under his boots. But she knew about his mother and her affair with the servant who worked in the kitchens. She knew about the man he had killed when he was only thirteen. She also said that he would lose the war. 

 

He threw her in the dungeons until she told him how to win. She spoke of a young boy on the edges of the Kingdom, no more than fifteen. He was also gifted with knowledge, with power, with _Sight._ She described his ability as much more powerful than hers, and that if he could somehow get this boy that he would be unstoppable. His enemies would be able to hide nothing, and his victory would be assured. 

 

She gave him the boy's location, and he slit her throat.

 

He sent his men out to the countryside, and they returned with a teenager. Gerard could see the spark in his eyes, a stubborn will keeping his small body tense. Gerard was confident that he could douse that annoying defiance, and morph the thing in front of him into a weapon deadlier than anything the Hales could ever have. 

 

It was an added bonus that he could hear the boy, _Stiles_ , scream. Harris worked his magic in the dungeons, and Stiles emerged with dull eyes and no voice. Gerard was initially unsure that the lack of speech would be beneficial, but it took very little training for the boy to give him non-verbal cues. He was literate, and writing would do in the stead of spoken words.

 

Stiles kneeled by his side, compliant and meek, feeding him invaluable information and buried secrets. Gerard was more confident than he had ever been that the Hales would die, and his Katherine would be avenged. 

 

And now the boy was gone, and Gerard was at a loss. He had been sure that his men could keep out the wolves and that Stiles could keep out the spies, and the fact that both had gotten into his castle was unacceptable. And on top of that humiliation, his property had been stolen. Years of work and conditioning, pulled out of a window and whisked away into the darkness. 

 

The body of the wolf that he had beheaded had been thrown into the garbage, but the head now rested on the wall of Gerard's room, still bloody and snarling. Gerard looked at it to remind himself of the end goal. The Hales would be on his wall, and he would be the most powerful ruler in all of the land. 

 

But for right now, he needed a plan. Stiles was an invaluable weapon, and him being in the filthy paws of the Hales would spell disaster for Gerard's armies. He had been puzzling for hours over what to do, and he kept circling to the same conclusion. If he wanted to beat the mutts, then he had to think like they did. 

 

"Harris! Get in here." Harris opened the door to Gerard's room, red faced and sour. 

 

"Yes, your Grace?"

 

"Go to Christopher. Tell him to contact Deucalion. He'll know what to do."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that the length of this chapter is short, I promise that the next one will make up for it!! :D


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't breathe, but he feels like he could, and that's better than nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

 

_The small sound endlessly repeats, deafening in the silence of the empty room. He's curled up in a dark corner, hands pressed over his ears and arms curled over his head. The floor is cold, but he stopped shivering weeks ago._

 

_His leg twitches, and the chain attached to his ankle clinks. It's a harsh sound in the echoing stillness, and he barely registers the pain as the metal chafes against the cuts circling his ankle. Silent whimpers build and die in his throat, matching the wheezing of his lungs._

 

_His mind is blank. It shut down a few hours ago, probably to try to stop him from fully experiencing his pain. The lack of heat helps too, and it doesn't bother him anymore. The burns on his shoulder blades don't still feel like they're on fire. The slices on his lower back don't throb every time his heart beats. He can't breathe, but he feels like he could, and that's better than nothing at all._

 

_He flinches badly when the clang of an opening door echoes above him. Footsteps descend stairs at ominous intervals. He knows what is coming, and his body tries to make itself shake. His fear is stronger than his exhaustion, and it feels like his bones are vibrating._

 

_The bars at the front of his cell are pulled open and a small amount of light seeps in. It makes him curl up further into his corner. Heavy breathing fills the terrifying silence, and he desperately hopes, prays, that what has happened for the past countless days isn't happening again._

 

_He hears the strike of a match, the hiss of flame rising on treated wood, and it's a painful promise. He can't help but whimper, the sound throwing itself from his constricting throat._

 

_"Shh…none of that. Today, we're silent. No noise, and I may decide to cut our little session short." The slimy voice sends chills up and down his body, and an unwelcome sob drags itself from his horrified mouth._

 

_The voice tsks, and its fake disappointment barely masks perverted glee._

 

_"Well, that just won't do, will it? I guess we'll just have to extend our time together, to make sure you really learn your lesson." The metallic hiss of a dagger being unsheathed sounds behind him, and he closes his eyes._

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles woke up to his fists clenching around mounds of dirt. It was the third time in three days that he had risen from sleep in a different place than where he had started. Judging by the slight chill in the air and the smell of grass, he was outside. His eyes opened up to a black sky filled with stars. He gazed numbly at their beauty, underwhelmed by what should have been amazing. 

 

He knew exactly what was making him feel so detached. What he had dreamed was a memory, one of his own in fact. The spell put on him by the Wizard must have made it so that he couldn't See in his sleep either. Now he was at the mercy of his own mind, and it seemed to be making up for all of the missed nightmares. Like he wasn't already living them.

 

Someone cleared their throat, and Stiles jerked. His heart beat kicked up, and he bolted upright.

 

"Hey, calm down!" Stiles relaxed minutely when he recognized the soothing baritone of Derek's voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Stiles turned to look at him and bit his lip.

 

He wondered why Derek wasn't taking him back to his room, and Derek seemed to know what he was thinking. The man looked uncomfortable, not looking directly at him.

 

"You were…um, sleep walking? I think?" Stiles flushed in embarrassment. He hated when anyone saw him in a trance, and apparently he didn't even need the visions to make him wander around.

 

"You fell asleep in the dining room, and then your eyes just randomly snapped open? You stood up, and when Isaac tried to touch you, you started crying." Derek was looking more and more sheepish, and Stiles wanted to bury himself under the dirt he was sitting on. He brought his hands up to his cheeks, and even though the tears were dry he could feel their sticky residue and the puff of his eyelids. 

 

"You walked out here, and my parents decided to just let you sleep. The servants took turns watching you to make sure you didn't esc -- wander off." Then why are you here, Stiles thought. But he didn't say anything. Derek seemed to be waiting for some kind of affirmation so Stiles bobbed his head up and down slowly.

 

He didn't want to get up though, and it didn't seem likely that Derek would force him. Stiles didn't want to go back to sleep yet, and now that he could control when he was tired he wanted to take advantage of his waking moments. The night really was beautiful, even if he couldn't bring himself to fully appreciate it.

 

He turned away from Derek and folded his legs underneath him. He wiped his eyes one last time and then pressed his hands against the soil. The ground was firm under his fingertips, and the energy of the earth rumbled deep its core. Stiles didn't do it often because he wasn't usually allowed outside for long periods of time, but he could access that energy brewing in the air and in the ground. 

 

He couldn't do more than feel it, though. It was too wild and old for him to harness. But for whatever reason, the chaos of the energy soothed him. When his mom died, he used to spend hours lying on the dusty ground, his ear pressed into grass and palms covered in dirt. 

 

He opened up his consciousness and allowed the energy to flow through him. He integrated himself into the stream, and allowed it to pass through him and back into the ground. It felt like lightning in his veins, but in a pleasant way. He was electrified and it felt like his brain was melting, and he loved it. It took away the necessity to think.

 

He barely registered Derek sitting down next to him. The Earth felt him though, and it surged up to meet the new life force. Derek couldn't sense that, of course, but Stiles could. He felt the frustration of the energy when it couldn't touch Derek, and he shared its aggravation. He felt his body turn towards the Prince, and his hand unthinkingly came up and rested on Derek's cheek. 

 

The wolf jerked back but the energy had already connected. It folded him in, and images exploded behind Stiles' eyelids. They flitted by too quickly for him to see, but he had an idea of what he was witnessing. He opened his eyes, and stared deep into blood red orbs. 

 

Derek's mouth was hanging open, his fags distending and shrinking randomly. He looked stunned, his hand suspended a few inches from Stiles' hand like he had been trying to pull it off and forgot what he was doing.

 

Stiles couldn't look away. He had never touched somebody else while connected to the Earth, and he didn't know it was possible for him to do so. It was like his body had moved on its own, drawn to Derek's power and wanting to join it with the raw energy coursing through the planet.

 

He didn't know how long they sat there, but the sky had started to lighten by the time Stiles finally mustered up the strength to remove his hand from Derek's skin. His stomach dropped as the connection was severed, and he felt nauseous as he broke his own connection to the energy. It slunk back under the dirt and remolded itself into the major stream.

 

Derek's fangs had stabilized back into human canines, but his eyes were still a molten red. He looked blissed out, his normally impeccable hair mussed and soft-looking and his pupils blown wide open. He just stared at Stiles, who found himself staring right back.

 

"What…was that." Derek finally breathed. Stiles blinked. He didn't really know how to explain what had just happened without speaking or writing. He ended up just smiling sadly, but he wasn't quite sure his lips formed more than a grimace. 

 

Derek seemed to realize that he wouldn't be getting an answer and stumbled to his feet. He swayed, but did not fall.

 

"I'll…send Isaac out to bring you back to your room." He looked like he wanted to say more, but he just shook his head and walked unsteadily away. Stiles watched him go, an unexplainable warmth blooming in his stomach.

 

\+ + +

 

Derek lay in his bed, ignoring the sun shining brightly through his curtains. He didn't want to see anyone today, even thought he knew that as a Prince he really didn't have that option. But he just felt so out of control that he didn't even trust himself with his family. Laura had knocked on his door a few times, but even she had stopped after he had not answered her calls. 

 

Derek had though about talking to her, but he didn't know how to explain that Stiles had absolutely wrecked the control he had painstakingly solidified over many years. One touch from the Seer, and Derek was undone.

 

When Stiles had fallen asleep in the dining room, Derek didn't want to disturb him. He told himself that it was just because Stiles seemed really tired, but really he wanted to watch the boy sleep. It was creepy, so creepy, but Stiles seemed so tense and scared when he was awake that Derek figured being asleep was an improvement. 

 

Derek had tried to distract himself from the Seer's open lips and rising chest by reading what Stiles had wrote. Once he had finally managed to stop reading the same sentence over and over again, he found that what Stiles had written was actually interesting. The information was more than his parents had, but it seemed like Stiles didn't actually know as much about his gift as they thought he did. 

 

Derek had almost fallen asleep himself when a sharp gasp from Stiles jerked him back to full awareness. The young Seer had his eyes open, but they were vacant and unfocused. His body was still relaxed, like he was asleep. 

 

Derek had called Isaac into the room, but once the curly haired wolf touched Stiles the Seer had started crying. So, they decided not to touch him again, and just let him be. They followed him when he went out to the garden, but the only thing he did was lie down on the ground and stare at the sky. 

 

Derek also may have lied when he said the servants took turns watching Stiles. He was the one who had stayed and made sure nothing happened to Stiles, much to the confusion of his family. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't leave Stiles alone, or under someone else's care. His mother had giving him a look when he denied her offer of assigning a servant to watch Stiles, like she knew something he didn't. Derek elected to ignore her.

 

He had no idea what happened next. 

 

One moment, he was sitting beside the now awake Stiles, then he was being electrocuted. The hand on his cheek burned, but in the best way possible. He felt himself lose control of the shift, but he could do nothing to stop it. And Stiles…it was like the Seer had crawled inside him rested his hands on Derek's soul. His scent, his heartbeat, his touch, all of him consumed Derek.

 

He shuddered just thinking about it. Phantom zaps of electricity still sparked in his spine, and he shuddered every time he felt them. He prided himself in having better control than both of his sisters, and all it took was a broken boy with sad eyes to shatter his walls.

 

He rolled over in his bed, cringing and grinding his teeth. He wanted to desperately to get the boy out of his head, but it seemed as if Stiles didn't even need his Sight to insert himself into Derek's thoughts.

 

His stupid mouth, which was constantly hanging open. His stupid hands, which were twitching every time a loud noise startled him. His stupid skin, marred by horrible scars but still so soft-looking. 

 

Derek groaned, long and loud. He was so fucked.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles stayed outside for only a few moments longer than Derek. He didn't bother waiting for Isaac, who would just take him back to his room. He didn't want to sleep anymore, and he was sure that the castle would have a library somewhere. He hadn't been in a library in a long time. Gerard had occasionally allowed him to read if he had given him a particularly useful piece of information, but that was it. 

 

And really, Stiles loved to read. He compared it to his Sight, in that both were ways for him to escape his own life and temporarily experience someone else's. The reprieve, though relatively small, was very welcome in the nightmare that was Stiles' life. 

 

So he stood, brushed off his dirt covered hands, and walked back inside the castle. It was quiet and dark in the hallways, and his footsteps echoed on the stone floors. He really wasn't concerned with being caught by one of the wolves, considering that most of them really didn't consider him to be a threat anymore. He wasn't sure if Talia and Robert had said something, but the servants and visiting lords and ladies had gone from not meeting his eyes in the hallways to smiling at him from across a room.

 

He never knew how to react when someone smiled at him, and any attempt he made to smile back always failed. It frustrated him, but he had forgotten how to make the corners of his mouth move upwards. The wolves never took offense, though. They simply flashed him a look of pity and moved on. 

 

They never asked about his scars.

 

He eventually found a massive set of wooden double doors, and he slowly pushed it open. He knew immediately that he hadn't found the library, but he wasn't sure what he was looking at either. The room was filled with plants of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Stiles didn't recognize any of them, but he wasn't exactly an expert on gardening. 

 

A sickly sweet aroma filtered into Stiles' nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze. He was about to turn around and leave when he heard a small noise behind a layer of vines. He paused, and as he peered into the darkness behind the green stalks he saw movement. 

 

A man finally emerged, the vines parting around his broad shoulders. His skin was very dark, and his head was devoid of hair. He had gray spectacles perched on his nose, which was buried in a book.

 

Stiles didn't know how to react, and he was startled when the man spoke without looking at him.

 

"Greetings, Seer. I assume you are here about the spell that I placed on you?" The man's voice was deep and smooth, and had a lilt that Stiles couldn't recognize. As he registered what the man had said, he realized that he must be the Wizard. He certainly didn't look very magical, but the way he walked and held himself spoke of power and knowledge. 

 

Stiles couldn't verbally respond, and even though he hadn't originally set out to get the spell removed, he would rather have his Sight back, so he just nodded even though the man still had not looked up from his book.

 

"My name is Alan Deaton, Wizard and Royal Emissary of the Hales. I am truly sorry that I placed such a painful spell on you. At the time, I thought it was necessary." The man picked up a small watering can that had been lying on the floor and poured purple liquid into a pot. It fizzled and released a puff of smoke, but the Wizard paid it no notice.

 

"Unfortunately, you have caught me at a bad time. I do not yet have the strength or materials to return your Sight to you. It may be a number of days before the counter spell can be performed." Alan said, his voice expressionless and monotone.

 

Stiles' heart sank. His Sight was his warning system and the only protection he had. He felt like he was stumbling around in the dark without it. Deaton still did not look up, instead watering more pots. 

 

Stiles was about to walk out again when Deaton continued. 

 

"I can, however, give you a tea that could help you sleep. I do not know the effect it will have on someone with your gifts, but it may sooth your mind." A steaming mug appeared on the table next to Stiles' elbow, and he jumped at the small pop that accompanied it. 

 

The steam wafting from the cup smelled very good, and Stiles hesitantly curled his hand around it. When he looked up, Deaton was gone. 

 

He was confused and a little annoyed at how unrepentant Deaton had seemed over casting the spell, but he attributed the man's strangeness to the fact that he was a Wizard. And an Emissary, whatever that was.

 

Stiles just pressed the mug into his chest and quietly slipped out the door. 

 

The tea was spicy and strong, and the aftertaste was a hint of citrus. Stiles felt heavy after his first sip, and he found himself stumbling through the halls. He eventually walked past his room, and by that time half the tea was gone and his eyelids were fluttering in an attempt to close. 

 

He set the tea on the table next to his bed, and collapsed face first onto the soft sheets, already asleep.

 

He didn't dream.

 


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia Martin was not a fool.

The next few weeks at the Hale Castle were mostly the same. Stiles would wake up, eat breakfast with Talia and Robert, avoid Derek's gaze, write down whatever information the Hales wanted, avoid Derek himself, and then go spend time with Deaton. Deaton was surprisingly good company, and he was holding true to his promise of giving Stiles back his Sight.

 

It was, apparently, a complicated process, involving many days of waiting for the previous step to take effect. On the first day, Stiles had ingested a foul tasting concoction that looked like liquified fecal matter, and he couldn't eat anything for the next twenty four hours. 

 

A week later he had to cleanse himself in a bath of rose water, which started out pleasant but quickly grew uncomfortable when the water got cold and the rose gave him a headache. And he had to dry himself with leaves that left him covered in sticky sap, which he could not wash off for two days. Every werewolf that passed him in the halls wrinkled their nose in confusion.

 

He had tried asking Deaton why he had to do such strange rituals, but the man was very cryptic and all Stiles could discern was something about purifying his body. Deaton's obvious hesitance to share his secrets was aggravating, but Stiles was willing to let the man be if as long as his Sight was returned. 

 

He still had to drink the tea that Deaton had given him during their first meeting. If he didn't, then he would relive his time in the dungeons every time he closed his eyes. The tea sometimes wasn't enough and he would find himself in a terrifying memory anyways. On those nights, Stiles would force himself awake, choking down a silent scream. 

 

His hands always shook for hours after he woke up, which was noticeable to the Hales. They didn't ask him difficult questions on the days when they saw him in the aftermath of his nightmares. 

 

Stiles still hadn't been able to fully articulate what had happened to him in the dungeons. It was bad enough reliving it when he slept. He couldn't bring himself to share something so personal with the Hales. They never scolded or reprimanded him for not telling them, though. They had grown used to his hesitancy and cautiousness, and they knew not to do things that reminded Stiles of Gerard.

 

The first time Robert put his hand on Stiles' neck he had reared backwards and crowded into a corner. The gesture was small and non-confrontational, but all Stiles could feel was Gerard's fingers pulling his hair and his hot breath creeping down his neck.

 

His lungs had constricted, and his skin had flushed burning hot and then ice cold. Stiles sat there for an indeterminate amount of time, and only when a familiar warmth surrounded him did he manage to take a normal breath. His vision cleared to light green eyes and black stubble. Stiles knew it was Derek that was holding him, and as soon as he was able to breath easily he stood up and hurried from the room, the spots where Derek's body had touched him burning like fire.

 

Stiles had no idea what to do about Derek. The Prince was a mystery, gruff and brooding most days and then caring and kind when Stiles was vulnerable. He made Stiles' chest tighten and his cheeks flush just by being in the same room as him. Derek always watched him when he wrote, and he never missed a breakfast. So far, he hadn't joined Stiles in the garden again, but Stiles could always feel eyes on him when he rested in the flowers or sat in the grass. 

 

Stiles was unfamiliar with almost every single emotion that Derek invoked. The warmth in his cheeks was definitely not unpleasant or embarrassed, and the churning of his stomach felt like butterflies were trapped inside. 

 

No one had ever prompted such a response from him before. Back with Gerard, Stiles had hidden his emotions to protect himself. Any show of weakness was just another opportunity for Gerard to hurt him. But here, he could let his guard down and not be attacked. He felt like he was being pulled in twenty different directions by his emotions, because he hadn't been able to feel them in such a long time.

 

He wasn't sure he liked it. Derek made him feel out of control, and he couldn't afford that. He won't. 

 

\+ + +

 

Lydia Martin was not a fool.

 

She had been manipulating people since she was eight years old. She had been in Gerard's Castle her entire life, and had gotten to know all of the servants very well. She knew their strengths and their weaknesses, and she used them to her advantage. 

 

She had coerced the Cook into teaching her how to read and write, and when Stiles had arrived at the Castle, she had simpered and flattered her way into being his personal servant. He was a powerful puzzle, and she needed to solve him. He was a little jagged, a little broken, and that opened him up to certain influences. Namely, hers. 

 

But he had thrown a wrench in her plans by being able to read people's thoughts. She had not anticipated exactly how powerful he was, and if her mind was compromised then she had no advantage. But she was still the only servant who would get near the Seer, and if that had to be her only advantage then so be it.

 

She let people order her around, and she let the older servants stare a little too long at her chest. They were nothing to her, anyways. She knew she would eventually leave the Castle and move on to bigger and better things. She had formulated a plan to run away at age fourteen, and had only made a few minor modifications. She just had to wait for the opportune moment. 

 

The attack on Gerard's Castle was the moment she was looking for.

 

Everything was in complete chaos in the aftermath of the attack. Stiles was gone, Gerard was crazier than usual and Harris was at the end of his rope. Many servants and Lords had been killed in the attack, but many wolves now lay rotting in a pit. Lydia could slip away and no one would ever notice. 

 

So, her small pack filled with provisions and a few articles of clothes sat underneath her cot next to Stiles' room, and she was waiting until nightfall to make her escape. She had a few hours to kill, and she knew she had to maintain her facade of obedience if she wanted to leave undeterred and undetected. 

 

She suspected that something was going on, because Harris had been in and out of Gerard's study multiple times. Lydia had positioned herself in the hallway outside of Gerard's study, cleaning the drapes and floors and anything she could get her hands on just to make sure she stayed in that area. She was torn between wanting to see what was happening and escaping as soon as she could, and in the end decided to stay as long as she could afford.

 

She lingered in the hallway for about two hours, always looking away from anyone who passed her and pretending to walk away when someone saw her multiple times. Gerard was in and out almost as much as Harris, but finally he left and didn't come back. 

 

The sky outside was beginning to darken and she was just about to give up and go back to her room when she heard raised voices. They were coming from around a corner on the other end of the hall, and they were deep and very clearly male. She didn't recognize the pitch or style of speech, and that caught her interest immediately. She knew every male who worked in the Castle, often intimately, and it wasn't often that someone arrived that she didn't know.

 

She heard footsteps coming closer, and she angled her body so that her back was turned towards the approaching men, but she could see a reflection of the hallway in a small mirror tucked into a corner. She pretended to be scrubbing a convenient blood stain from the wall as she eyed the mirror.

 

Gerard came around the corner first, his eyes cold and his features grimly set. A tall and muscular man was next to him. His hair was light brown and his face was generally unassuming, but his eyes were a deep and powerful red. That shocked Lydia. Gerard's hatred of wolves was widely known, and the fact that he was seemingly willingly working with one was a very bad sign. 

 

Four other people trailed behind the two men, their eyes all glowing red. A beautiful woman walked directly behind the lead Alpha, her hair long and brown and her feet shockingly bare. Her lips were curled into a smirk. The man next to her was huge, muscled and extremely surly. His buzz cut gave the impression of a soldier, and Lydia guessed that in the group that was probably his role. The two men walking behind them truly caught her eye. They were twins, identical and very handsome. Their blond hair was artfully arranged, and they stepped in time and with similar swagger. 

 

Lydia found herself unable to look away from the one on the right. Even though the two twins were identical, there was something he had that his brother did not. She had never been attracted to a male before. Of course, many boys had found her body to be sexually appealing and she used that to her advantage, but she rarely reciprocated the appreciation. 

 

She abandoned the pretense of cleaning the wall to watch the wolves walk. They headed into Gerard's study, not speaking. Lydia followed them with her eyes, and at the very last moment the twin she had been studying looked right into her eyes. She froze, and he stopped walking. His red eyes seemed to pulse, and his lips curled up into a cruel smirk.

 

"Aidan, come on." The other twin said, poking his head out of the door. Aidan didn't move for another long moment, holding her gaze, then slowly walked through the door. It slammed shut behind him, and Lydia released a shuddering breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. 

 

She had been sure that tonight was the night to escape, and finally begin a new life as a free woman. But now she wasn't so sure. Something big was happening, and it involved five Alpha werewolves and Gerard.

 

Lydia told herself that that was why she decided to stay. It had nothing to do with Aidan. Nothing at all.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles had been hoping that he could avoid interacting with Derek as much as he could, and for about three weeks, he succeeded. But he knew his luck would eventually run out, and when it did, he wasn't exactly surprised.

 

It was fairly late at night, and he was sitting in Deaton's Plant Room, sipping his tea and watching Deaton work. Deaton was mixing the next potion for Stiles to ingest at the coming full moon, which was tomorrow. The old Wizard hadn't bothered to explain why the full moon was necessary for the potion, but the non-forthcomingness was pretty expected from him. Stiles had learned to just accept the man's evasiveness, and didn't question his motives. Much.

 

Stiles was about halfway done with his tea when the door to the room slammed open. He dropped the tea as he flinched and it tipped over slightly, spilling warm liquid onto the stone table beneath it. Deaton stopped what he was doing as well, but he did not seem startled at the sudden intrusion.

 

Derek was standing in the doorway, panting and flushed as if he had been running. His eyes were flickering between green and red and his pupils were wide. He didn't say anything, just stood their and flicked his wild gaze between Stiles and Deaton. Stiles felt his own skin flush, an unfortunate reaction to Derek's piercing stare. Deaton simply sighed, and set down the pot resting in his hand. 

 

"Derek, what seems to be the problem." he said, his voice low and soothing.

 

Derek growled, and Stiles felt his heart skip a beat. Derek's eyes snapped to his chest, and Stiles grew self conscious of the movement breathing caused. Derek just stared at him for a few more seconds before finally responding.

 

"My wolf is unsettled. The Full Moon is tomorrow and I'm losing control." he growled.

 

That got a reaction out of Deaton. His eyebrows raised and his head lifted slightly. He considered Derek for a moment.

 

"I see." he finally said. Derek snarled.

 

"That's all you have to say? Tell me what's wrong with me!" he snapped, his claws forming and then retracting quickly. Stiles was growing nervous at the uncharacteristic lack of control Derek was showing, but Deaton didn't seem alarmed.

 

"Calm down, Derek. There's nothing wrong with you." he soothed. Derek snarled again.

 

"Then tell me why I'm losing control like a teenager!" Derek was getting more and more worked up, and Stiles couldn't help but react to his agitation. His own pulse was quickening, and adrenaline was flooding his system. Derek kept glancing back at him, and suddenly he stumbled towards him like he was being pulled. Stiles reared backwards, which just seemed to upset Derek even more.

 

"Damn it Deaton, give me an answer! I know you know what's happening, so cut the evasive bullshit and fix me!" His features were shifting into a wolf, and his eyes had settled on their bloody red. Stiles stood, and that sharp movement pulled Derek closer. He stumbled right up to Stiles and his body heat seeped through Stiles' clothes. 

 

That seemed to snap Deaton into action, and he moved quickly towards Derek. He pulled a spray bottle out from under his robes and squirted a jet of red water at Derek's face. It hit him just as sharp claws touched Stiles' arm and Derek reared backwards. The wolfish features immediately disappeared and his hands morphed back into regular human shape. 

 

Stiles felt half relieved that Deaton had used whatever was in that bottle, and half frustrated that Derek had been forced away after being so close. He felt overheated, like Derek's body heat was surrounding him in a warm blanket.

 

Deaton watched calmly as Derek got himself back under control. Derek wiped the red liquid off of his face, and glared at the Wizard.

 

"What. The Hell. Was that." he ground out. Deaton blinked. 

 

"The liquid is a smell blocker. I've temporarily disabled your sense of smell, it should return in a few hours." 

 

"Why would you do that?" 

 

"Your wolf was unstable-"

 

"Yeah, I'm aware, but-"

 

"Because it was reacting to the scent of your Mate." Derek's next complaint died on is lips. Stiles didn't know what the word Mate meant, but Derek looked pale and shaken. Stiles couldn't help but pick up on Derek's anxiety, and his stomach churned. 

 

"But…" Derek stuttered. "But, that doesn't - I mean, I've never - who?"

 

Deaton pursed his lips.

 

"Derek, I think we both know who." Derek was already shaking his head.

 

"No."

 

"Derek, you-"

 

"No. Absolutely not. There's no way." 

 

Stiles was clearly missing something. Derek's face had switched from scared to stubborn, and he crossed his arms. Deaton looked just as stubborn.

 

"You know I'm right. You've never lost control like that before, and the coincidence of his arrival and your episode can't be ignored." Deaton raised an eyebrow. "And you would be bull-headed to deny it."

 

"Watch me." Derek snapped. He glared at Deaton, and then turned his head to Stiles. Stiles curled inwards from the force of the glare, and Derek seemed to soften a little. He sighed, and ran a hand through his dark hair.

 

"I'm sorry, Deaton. It's not him. It can't be." Derek said softly. He looked sad, and Stiles found his hands reaching forwards, like they wanted to comfort the Prince. He held them back, but his fingers twitched. Derek saw the movement, and that made him look even more upset. He shook his head and turned on his heel.

 

"Derek," Deaton started, but the wolf was already out the door. Deaton sighed, and turned back to his plants. Stiles stared at the door, before turning back to Deaton. Deaton seemed to hear the unspoken question on Stiles' mind, and explained quietly.

 

"I apologize for Derek's behavior. You should probably stay away from him for a few days, just to be safe." That's what I've been trying to do, Stiles thought. 

 

"You should go to bed, Stiles. The tea is only effective for so long after consumption. Sleep well." Deaton said. Recognizing the clear dismissal, Stiles turned and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

 

As he was walking back to his room, he heard Queen Talia's voice from behind a dark stone door. It was slightly ajar, and Stiles had already walked past it. He stopped short when he heard Derek's distressed voice. He backpedaled silently, and put his ear to the stone.

 

"…never been like this before. I can't be around him, Mom, but God I want him so badly. What's happening to me?" Derek sounded so sad and small, and Stiles' chest ached. He didn't know who Derek was talking about, but it sounded like the same person he was referring to in Deaton's room.

 

"I'm sorry, darling. I wish there was more I could do for you. A wolf finding its Mate is a joyous occasion, and I'm so sorry that you can't be with him." Talia said, her voice soft and nurturing.

 

"Just give him a little bit more time. Make an effort to get to know him, be kind to him and gain his trust. He's been through a lot, and you and he both deserve to be happy." she said. A high pitched whine followed her statement.

 

"Mom, he's so fragile. I feel like if I touch him he's going to shatter. I can't hurt him, I won't."

 

Stiles decided to back away. Derek sounded genuinely upset, and he wasn't comfortable listening in on something so personal. It reminded him of being able to invade people's most intimate thoughts; a cruel and unfair advantage. It made him feel sick. He hurried back to his room, the sound of Derek's heartbroken voice echoing in his mind.

 


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fuck." she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really quickly I just wanted to say that I am SO sorry for suddenly not updating for like, two months. My sister was in the hospital for one of those months, and I just haven't had the energy to write anything. She's better now though, and I'm going to try to return to a semi-regular posting schedule. Thank you to for sticking with this story, and I hope you enjoy! <3

At breakfast the next morning, Stiles could tell that something was off. The King and Queen were there, which was nothing unusual, but their expressions were setting off alarm bells in Stiles' mind. The Queen was glancing at him every few seconds, and her hands wouldn't sit still.

 

Derek was sitting quietly and eating his eggs, which was nothing special. But his fork hit the plate just a little too hard when he scooped up the yellow fluff, and a tick in his jaw hinted at his hidden emotion. 

 

Stiles could feel a tension in the room that he couldn't quite put a name to. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his skin prickle. He waited for someone to speak, and his patience was awarded when the King cleared his throat about fifteen minutes into the meal.

 

"So, Stiles. How has your work with Deaton been going?" 

 

Stiles shrugged. He had a paper in front of him, as he always did, but he didn't feel the need to elaborate. The King waited a few more moments, before nodding his head slowly.

 

"Thats…that's good. I'm sure you will feel better once your Sight has returned." the King said, his tone hesitant. A few seconds of awkward silence filled the room, before Talia finally set down her knife and fork and straightened her back.

 

"Stiles," she began. "We wanted to tell you that we are going to be having some visitors next week. They have heard of our…rescue regarding the Seer, you, and have requested a meeting." Stiles nodded slowly. The Queen still looked nervous, so Stiles waited for her to finish her thought.

 

"They are wolves as well. We should have nothing to worry about, but I wanted to warn you that…" Talia swallowed, and a nervous smile formed on her lips.

 

"They are all Alphas. Their group was formed in response to the Argent's declaring war on our Kingdom, and by extension, werewolves. They want to meet you, and see your power with their own eyes." She still seemed hesitant. "Is that all right?"

 

Stiles frowned. The King and Queen both seemed anxious about this Alpha Pack, but nothing that they had said accounted for their worry. He picked up the quill sitting next to his spoon and pressed it to the paper.

 

_Why do you seem so scared of them?_

 

The King and Queen glanced at each other after reading his message, and the Queen flushed lightly. 

 

"We are not…scared, Stiles." The King said. "It's just - the Alpha Pack is much more powerful than any other groups of wolves have been in history. Their power has given them a complex of sorts. They will want to see everything you can do, and they may not take no for an answer."

 

Stiles felt a pit forming in his stomach. His quill scratched against the paper.

 

_They sound like Gerard._

 

The Queen just looked sad. 

 

\+ + +

 

Derek watched as Stiles hurried away from the table as soon has his plate was cleared. He itched to run after him and soothe away the distress and fear that was seeping from the Seer. 

 

He glanced up at his mother. She was already looking at him, and after studying his face for a moment, she nodded slowly. Derek wasted no time in standing up and rushing after Stiles.

 

He tracked his scent through the castle, and wasn't surprised that it led him to the gardens. Stiles spent most of his days there, his palms buried in the dirt and flowers. He wasn't on the ground this time, instead sitting on a stone bench underneath a cherry tree. 

 

Derek approached him slowly, intentionally making noise so Stiles wasn't startled. Stiles didn't react well to being surprised. 

 

When the Seer didn't do anything to stop him, Derek sat down next to him. The stone was cool against his palms. Stiles didn't look at him.

 

"Hi, Stiles." Derek said. He internally cringed at how awkward he sounded. He wasn't used to having to carry a conversation all by himself, but he was willing to do it for Stiles. After Stiles didn't acknowledge his greeting, he continued.

 

"I'm sorry that you have to meet the Alphas. I know how similar to Gerard they sound." Stiles flinched at the King's name. Derek clenched his fingers to keep from reaching out to him. He moved his hands to his lap and folded them together. 

 

"This may not mean much, but I swear that I won't let them hurt you." Stiles still didn't move. Derek felt disappointed. He knew he wasn't very good at social interaction, but he had hoped that his words would have _some_ impact, good or bad. He looked down at his hands, and fiddled with his thumbs.

 

"Mom and Dad won't let anything happen either. They may all be Alphas, but this is our castle. They won't let anything happen. _I_ won't let anything happen. I promise." 

 

Derek didn't look up at Stiles this time., instead closing his eyes. His cheeks were hot with embarrassment, which was a new feeling for him. He couldn't believe that he was opening himself up to Stiles. His mother's words echoed in his mind, _make an effort to get to know him, be kind to him and gain his trust._ He was already screwing it up.

 

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't feel the small hand that rested on his own. His eyes flew open, and zeroed in on Stiles' pale skin. He looked up, and saw amber eyes staring back.

 

Stiles smiled, a soft curve of his rosy lips, and Derek couldn't help but smile back.

 

\+ + +

 

Lydia tiptoed down the hallway, her footsteps muffled by her slippers. It was late, the moon high in the sky, but she couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, red orbs burned behind her eyelids and heated her cheeks. 

 

She wandered aimlessly through the castle, ignoring how the shadows seemed to move in the darkest corners of the corridors. She walked past Gerard's study, and her mind flashed back to the first time she saw the blonde Alpha. He and his partners had been their for a week, and she kept running into the man. Aidan always smirked when he saw her, and his brother always scowled. 

 

Lydia wasn't used to men having such an effect on her. Every time their eyes met, her stomach swirled and her skin heated up. She hated him for how he made her feel.

 

She rounded a corner, and ran into a brick wall. As she stumbled backwards, the wall reached out and steadied her with warm hands. She looked up, and red eyes met hers. Butterflied erupted, and her heart sped up. Aidan's lips curled up, and her face burned.

 

She yanked her arms away from his hands, and brushed the front of her nightgown off.

 

"What are you doing here?" she questioned testily. 

 

Aidan's eyed faded from red to brown, but his smirk didn't move. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, his biceps bulging beneath his shirt.

 

"I could ask the same of you, Lydia." he said. His voice was deep and silky, and her name falling from his lips made her shiver. She mimicked his pose and crossed her arms.

 

"I live here. I don't need to explain myself to you." she snapped, defensive. Aidan's head tilted slightly.

 

"No, you don't, little firecracker. But I can't help wondering why such a pretty thing like you is wandering around in such…" he looked her slowly up and down. "thin attire."

 

Lydia felt self conscious. She knew that her nightgown wasn't the most concealing garment, but she refused to let him know that his words affected her.

 

"If you have such a problem with what I am wearing, you are welcome to leave." she said. Aidan shook his head.

 

"Quite the opposite, little firecracker. Your gown has the most profound affect on me, I have to admit." Lydia wanted to smack him, then kiss the mark she made. Aidan seemed to know what he was thinking, and his smirk somehow grew more smug.

 

"You - you absolute, you, uh!" Lydia sputtered. Her fury grew as Aidan laughed at her stuttering, and she whirled around to stalk away. Strong hands wrapped around her arms and pulled her back. She ended up pressed against the wall with Aidan leaning over her, her arms pinned by his hands.

 

"Let me go, Aidan!" she nearly yelled, struggling. Aidan didn't budge, just moved closer. She froze as he tucked his face into her neck, his nose brushing against her skin. Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest, and it thumped all the harder as Aidan slowly moved down and across her collarbones. 

 

"Hush, little firecracker." he murmured, inhaling softly. "Don't be frightened. I won't hurt you." Lydia closed her eyes, her body relaxing in increments. Aidan moved back across her throat, and pressed behind her ear. hot breath trailed down her neck, and she shivered.

 

Then, he was gone. Lydia stayed frozen for a few more moments, then sagged to the floor. Her breath left her lungs in one large whoosh, and she tangled her hands in her hair. 

 

"Fuck." she whispered.

 


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out quickly to make up for my very long absence. I'm sorry that it's not very long, but the content is pretty juicy ;) I hope you guys enjoy!

 

Derek following him out to the garden was a turning point in their relationship. Suddenly Derek was everywhere that Stiles was, striking up conversation and telling stories that made Stiles want to laugh. 

 

Derek showed Stiles the secrets of the castle, like the hidden bookshelves in the Library, and the greenhouse behind the kitchen. The Prince slowly opened up, his laughs and smiles becoming more and more common. He seemed to make it his job to distract Stiles from the upcoming visit of the Alphas. It was like the wolf could read his thoughts, and whenever they grew dark and scared Derek would draw him out with dry jokes and sparkling eyes. 

 

Stiles had been hesitant at first at Derek's sudden personality reversal, but he had grown to trust the man during his stay at the Hale castle. Also, his Sight was slowly returning, allowing him small snippets of emotion and intentions. Derek's purpose for talking with Stiles was not simple, but from what Stiles could ascertain was well-meant. 

 

Emotions were always harder to pinpoint because they changed to quickly and no one person felt things the same way as another. Derek had a lot of mistrust and anger broiling beneath his skin, but whenever he was around Stiles the anger faded a little, and the mistrust morphed into an excited nervousness. It didn't make any sense, but that was Derek.

 

Then came the morning before the Alphas were arriving.

 

Stiles had been anxious all morning, and he could tell that it was frustrating Derek. His normal distraction techniques weren't working, and the emotion that Stiles was sensing off of the Prince was sadness mixed with an edge of something that could only be described as warm. It was familiar somehow, but like it was something that was buried in the unclear memories of his childhood. 

 

Whatever Derek was feeling, it seemed to harden his resolve to make Stiles feel better. Determination was set on his face the entire day, and he was mysteriously missing for most of said day. Stiles was confused and more than a little disappointed, but the reason for Derek's absence was explained when he dragged Stiles to Deaton's room just before dinner. 

 

"Just trust me Stiles." Derek said when Stiles raised an eyebrow in question. Derek's hand was latched onto Stiles', his palm warm and fingers strong. It made Stiles' skin tingle and his heart beat faster. Derek's hand tightened and his pace increased.

 

When they reached the Wizard's room, Deaton was standing by a blue flower, and was mixing a potion in a black pot. He turned as Derek opened the door, and his lips curled up in the smallest of smiles.

 

"Ah, Stiles. I was wondering when Derek would finally bring you by. Has he told you why you're here yet?" the man asked, his tone innocent and light.

 

Stiles shook his head, and looked expectantly at Derek. The Prince blushed lightly, which made Stiles' stomach swoop. Their hands were still connected. 

 

"I wanted it to be a surprise." Derek explained. Stiles tilted his head, which Derek saw. "I know that you've been upset about how long it's been since you've had your Sight, and I wanted to do something to help. So, I gave Deaton something that helped him make the potion that would give you your full power back." he said. 

 

Stiles was stunned. It must of shown on his face, because Derek's hopeful face turned uncertain.

 

"Is…is that ok?I thought it would be a good surprise, because I know that you've really missed it and - " Stiles silenced Derek's question bypulling his hand away from Derek's and cupping his face. He didn't know how else to express his gratitude, so he leaned forwards slowly and pressed a soft kiss to Derek's temple.

 

The wolf looked stunned as he pulled back, his lips hanging open and his eyes flickering red. 

 

"Stiles, what…"

 

"Thank you."

 

Silence filled the room. Even Deaton's mixing stopped. Derek looked even more shocked, if that was even possible. Stiles was surprised as well. He hadn't meant for the words to slip out, rough and fractured, but still sincere. They had just come out, needing for Derek to understand just how much his actions meant. 

 

It felt good to speak. Right that Derek was the first one to hear them.

 

Deaton was the first one to break the silence, clearing his throat lightly. Stiles lowered his hands, smiling at Derek's still shellshocked face. As he pulled away, Derek's fingers came up and gently brushed his temple where Stiles' lips had been. His eyes burned a deep red.

 

Stiles turned away, his cheeks matching Derek's eyes. Deaton was just smirking softly, like he knew something they didn't. He picked up the pot, and poured the dark liquid into a cup that was resting on the table. He brought the cup over to Stiles, and handed it to him.

 

"Drink this. You will find that by the time the sun sets, your Sight will be fully restored."

 

Stiles nodded, grateful for Deaton's help, and drank the potion. It tasted like grapes and manure, but he forced it down. Derek was still standing with his hand on his temple when Stiles handed the glass back to Deaton. Stiles huffed a small laugh, and pulled Derek's hand away from his face. He laced their fingers, and tugged him gently towards the door. Derek followed silently.

 

Dinner was a quiet affair, the King and Queen both looking happy and not at all surprised that Derek couldn't keep his eyes off of Stiles. Stiles just ate his food, feeling his Sight coming back to him. He didn't look into Derek's eyes, though. He wanted Derek to tell him about his life. He owed him that, at least.

 

As soon as the plates were cleared, Derek was dragging him away. Stiles was pulled through the hallways, shadows starting to appear as the sun began to set. They climbed stairwell after stairwell, until they came across an alcove that looked out across the grounds. The sun was visible behind the mountains in the distance, turning the sky orange and pink. 

 

Derek sat, and Stiles curled up next to him. Their hands rested in between them, fingers laced together. They sat there quietly, Derek not saying anything and Stiles just feeling Derek's Content and Happy and Uncertain. As the sky turned red then purple then black, Derek moved. His free hand reached up and traced over the scar across Stiles' face. 

 

The finger was soft, and it made Stiles shiver. It moved down his jaw, the knuckle brushing his skin lightly. It traced all the little scars on his neck, then his shoulder. The finger moved back up then, a palm joining the exploration of Stiles' skin. Derek's thumb finally came to rest at the edge of Stiles' lips, just barely touching the corner. Stiles' eyes burned with unshed tears.

 

"Stiles…" Derek murmured, his voice low and raspy. Stiles' breath hitched.

 

"Derek." He whispered back. Then Derek's lips were on his, and the wolves hidden deep within the mountains howled at the moon glowing brightly in the sky.

 

\+ + +

 

Deucalion ran swiftly through the forest, his footsteps echoed by the wolves at his back. He barely broke a sweat as the trees rushed by, dark and shadowy in the night. Their leaves blocked any moonlight from filtering in and illuminating the forest floor.

 

He grinned, and his canines dug into his lover lip. He loved the hunt, craved it, and his wolf was out for blood. The wolves behind him sensed his rising bloodlust, and the air filled with snarls and barks. 

 

The Hale Forest stretched out in front of him, and he howled, deep and loud, as he grew closer and closer to his hapless prey.

 

 

 


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want to tell you about me." Stiles said quietly.

Stiles woke up wrapped in warmth, his dream about his mother's laughter gently fading away. He tried to move his arms, but realized that they were trapped by strong, soft arms. Soft puffs of air spilled down the side of his neck, and scratchy stubble shifted against his cheek. 

 

After the kiss, which was everything that Stiles could have hoped for, Derek pulled Stiles over to him and positioned his back to his chest. They had fallen asleep like that, staring up at the moon and stars. Stiles' cheeks hurt from smiling.

 

Behind him, Derek stirred. The arms around him shifted, tightening and pulling him backwards. One of the Prince's hands stroked gently down Stiles' arm, raising goosebumps on his skin.

 

"Good morning, Stiles." Derek rasped. He felt Warm and Sleepy and Content. Stiles couldn't help but smile again.

 

"Good morning, Derek." A flash of joy passed through the wolf. It made Stiles' stomach swirl to know how much he affected him. His Sight had been fully restored, as Deaton had promised, and he could now feel all of Derek's emotions. He hadn't looked into his eyes yet, but when he did he would block all that he could. 

 

Derek's arms finally loosened, allowing Stiles to turn his head and burrow it into Derek's neck. A low rumble followed the action, and the arms tightened right back up. A soft kiss was pressed to his temple, a mimic of the one Stiles had given Derek in Deaton's plant room. 

 

They sat there in a comfortable silence for a few more minutes before Derek finally broke the silence.

 

"We should probably go downstairs for breakfast. The Alphas will unfortunately be arriving soon." Right. The Alphas. The haze of sleep abruptly lifted, and Stiles sat up. Derek's arms fell away.

 

"Okay." Stiles whispered. He stood up, and Derek did the same. Derek slid his hand into Stiles', and squeezed lightly. The gesture was comforting, and he squeezed back. That made Derek smile softly. 

 

They walked down to the Dining Hall, following the smell of bacon and eggs. As they approached the door, Derek suddenly turned so he was in front of Stiles and backed him into the wall. He pressed his chest against Stiles, and lifted his arms beside his head. He laced their fingers together, and Stiles was on fire. His cheeks burned, his stomach burned, and his toes curled. 

 

Derek smirked, knowing what his actions were doing to him. He slowly leaned forward, and rested his forehead against Stiles'. Their lips were centimeters apart, breathing the same air. Stiles made the first move, and they connected. The kiss lastedfor thirty seconds, slow and deep and warm.

 

Derek pulled away, breathing hard. Stiles felt shaky and untethered. Derek's hand reached up to Stiles' cheek, and stroked it gently. Stiles closed his eyes, reveling in the emotion coming from both of them. It was the warm, endless feeling that he had felt last night. He knew what it was now.

 

"I love you too." He whispered. Derek's eyes widened, then he grinned. His happiness consumed Stiles. 

 

"We should go inside." Derek said, and finally pulled back. Stiles nodded quickly, and slipped his hand back into Derek's. He opened the doors, and they walked inside. Laura and Cora were sitting at the table, chatting animately to each other, and they stopped abruptly and zeroed in on their joined hands. Stiles flushed, but didn't let go. King Robert looked grudgingly pleased while Talia just beamed. 

 

Laura's dumbstruck look turned wicked, and she grinned toothily.

 

"Well well well, look's like Der-Bear has finally pulled his head out of his ass."

 

"Laura!" Talia scolded.

 

Laura just held her hands up, and went back to eating. Derek squeezed, and Stiles squeezed back. They sat down next to each other, each only eating with one hand.

 

They finished quickly, and Derek made to stand up. Stiles didn't move with him, and he frowned. Stiles just shook his head, and cleared his throat. Just that simple noise drew the attention of the four other wolves at the table. Derek looked at Stiles, as if he was asking if he was sure. Stiles nodded.

 

He turned and looked towards Talia and Robert, and smiled softly.

 

"I want to thank you for all that you have done for me. I would still be with Gerard if it hadn't been for you. You all saved me." he said quietly.

 

Talia was already crying. The King looked stunned, but he nodded, dazed. Laura and Cora were practically bouncing in their seats, eyes dancing with excitement. Talia nodded frantically, a faster version of her husband's still slow nod. 

 

"Sweetheart, there's no need to thank us. You've more than made up for it." She said tearfully, her eyes flicking to Derek who smiled again. 

 

Derek finally stood, and with a nod to his parents and an annoyed sigh to his sisters, he dragged Stiles out of the room.

 

As the door closed behind them, Stiles moved so that his side was pressed against Derek's. Derek looked at him questioningly.

 

"I want to tell you about me." Stiles said quietly. Derek tilted his head, confused.

 

"About my time with Gerard." he clarified. Derek's eyes widened, but he only nodded.

 

\+ + +

 

They settled in Derek's room, wrapped around each other on his bed. Stiles' heart was beating rapidly, and Derek rested his palm over it. 

 

"You don't have to do this." he murmured. Stiles shook his head immediately.

 

"I want to." he replied. Derek nodded. Stiles took a deep breath.

 

"I discovered my Sight when I was nine. My mother had it as well, and she helped me learn how to control it. She died two months after, though."Derek's arm tightened around Stiles. 

 

"It was just my dad and me for a few years, until I was fifteen. I came home from school and my house was burning. Men in black had my dad on his knees, and they took me to Gerard. He said that another Seer had told him where to find me."

 

"He threw me in the dungeons for ten weeks." Derek's breath hitched. 

 

"Every day, a man would come in. He'd either have a dagger, matches, or just his fists. That's where the scars came from. He made sure I learned my place. " Derek was shaking now. Stiles wasn't sure if it was from anger or not.

 

"I stopped speaking around week four. I had lost my voice from screaming, and I guess I just never got it back. I spent the next three years or so serving as Gerard's personal spy, lie detector, and interrogator. I would be sent to prisoners in the dungeons and scramble their memories until they went insane." Stiles didn't realize he was crying until Derek's thumb brushed gently against his cheek and came back wet. He took a deep, shaky breath.

 

"At night I would dream of the wars fought between your wolves and Gerard's men. I would wake up, silent screams stuck in my throat from watching blood spatter on grass and heads roll from swords. I thought I was never getting out." Stiles looked up then, his lower lip wobbling. Derek was pale and shaken-looking, his eyes filled with unshed tears of his own. 

 

"You saved me, Derek." Stiles whispered. Derek shook his head frantically.

 

"No, Stiles. We saved each other." Stiles looked down, overwhelmed with Derek's emotions and his own. He knew that he wouldn't be able to block Derek's memories if he looked into his eyes.

 

A hand cupped his chin, and slowly lifted it. 

 

"Look at me, Stiles. It's okay, I promise. Just look in my eyes." Derek whispered.

 

And so he did.

 

\+ + +

 

It was midday by the time they finally made it downstairs. Derek's hair was a mess, and Stiles lips were pink and puffy. Their mood was sober, though. The Alphas had arrived while they were upstairs, and were waiting to meet Stiles. They paused outside of the Main Hall, and Stiles looked up at Derek, welcoming his feelings of love and reassurance.

 

"I'll be right next to you the whole time, don't worry." Derek said. Stiles nodded.

 

"I know. I trust you." he murmured in response. Derek smiled softly, and opened the door.

 

Five people were standing next to the King and Queen. A woman with long brown hair and no shoes stood closest, her lips curled into a cruel smirk. Two identical men stood beside her, blonde hair elegantly styled and red eyes glowing. A large, muscular man stood off to one side, his arms crossed and muscles bulging. The final man was facing away from them, and as he turned, Stiles felt his heart drop.

 

His eyes were covered in a misty film, and he knew he was blind. But that didn't stop the rush of images from slamming into his mind. As they passed, Stiles grew more and more scared. Derek stepped in front of him, sensing his fear.

 

"Mom, something's wrong." he said, his own eyes glowing red. The man smirked, and the Alphas surrounding him all shifted. Talia and Robert shifted too, growling loudly. 

 

"How right you are, Prince Derek." The man said, his voice like a snake's. "My name is Deucalion, and you," he drawled, smiling creepily at Stiles. "must be _Stiles_." 

 

He crouched, shifted, and pounced.

 


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He opened his eyes and nearly sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Kidnapping, Mild Torture

Stiles' head hurt. It pounded in time with his heart beat, and he winced. He tried to lift his arms, and froze when they couldn't move. As his awareness returned, he realized that his arms were restrained behind his back. He opened his eyes and nearly sobbed.

 

Memories of what had happened came rushing back. Deucalion and the other Alphas had attacked, catching Talia and Robert by surprise. Derek had immediately pushed Stiles behind him, and launched himself towards Deucalion. The fight had been a mismatch, even with Derek driven by a need to protect his mate. The female Alpha had gone after Talia, while the burly Alpha had tackled Robert. 

 

The twins had set their sights on Stiles, and had taken advantage of Derek's distraction. They blitzed Stiles, one of them wrapping an arm around his neck and the other jumping into the fight with Deucalion and Derek. The two had the Prince down in seconds. 

 

Stiles had struggled for air as the arm choking him tightened, but there was nothing he could do. He eventually succumbed to the darkness, the last thing he heard being Derek's desperate roar. 

 

He sat up, wincing as his arms protested the movement. He was in a cell, lying on cold stone. He recognized it as Gerard's dungeon, and the realization sent shivers down his spine. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious for, but it had to have at least been twenty-four hours if he had been transported to Gerard's castle. 

 

He whipped his aching neck around towards the front of his cell as he heard the familiar clank of the door to the dungeons being opened. His heart sped up as heavy boots thumped their way down the stairs. Stiles was not even vaguely surprised at the face that greeted him.

 

"Ah, Stiles," said Harris, a nasty grin warping his features. "So good to see you again. I've missed our little sessions, I really have." he said, fake disappointment inflected in his voice. Stiles moved himself backwards, fear encompassing him. Harris' smile grew as he saw Stiles' motion.

 

"Aw, don't be afraid little Seer. I won't hurt you…much." he said, and pulled out a brand. Stiles let out a sob when he saw it.

 

"No!" he blurted out. He immediately regretted it when Harris' eyes widened with glee.

 

"I see you've decided to speak again. A few weeks away and suddenly you've forgotten your lessons." He tsked, and walked over to one of the torches on the wall. He held the poker to it, waiting for it to heat up.

 

"Well that just won't do, will it. Looks like you need a little reminder of who owns you." Stiles was crying now, big fat ears rolling down his cheeks.

 

"Please don't, please, please, please…" he chanted. Harris just laughed, and pulled the brand back from the fire. The tip glowed orange.

 

Harris opened the cell door, and approached slowly. Stiles scrambled backwards until he hit the wall. Harris kicked him in the ribs, then ripped his shirt down the back.

 

"Don't worry little Seer." Harris sneered. "This won't hurt a bit."

 

Stiles screamed as the brand pressed into his skin.

 

\+ + +

 

Derek paced back and forth across the room, completely oblivious to any words being spoken. The entire Hale family and all of the castle guards were in the Dining Hall, maps and weapons spread across the table instead of food. 

 

Derek had tried to focus on what was being said, but all he could think of was Stiles' smile, his laugh, his beautiful skin….

 

He roared suddenly, and threw a chair. It collided with the wall, splintering. No one even flinched, Talia just sending a brief look of sympathy towards Derek. They knew he would be practically going crazy from the absence of his mate.

 

"Daniel, call back any troops who are not currently fighting. Tell them that they're being reassigned, brief them on the situation." Robert ordered, his eyes blazing red.

 

"We're going to need all of the manpower we can get. We got into the castle before because of surprise and small numbers, but we can't afford that now. Gerard is going to be expecting a fight, and we're going to give it to him." he said, his voice, authoritarian and strong.

 

Derek growled, running his hands through his hair. He knew his control was fraying, his shift just barely contained and his eyes flashing. He didn't care though. All he waited was Stiles back and safe in his arms.

 

"Laura, take Derek to the forest. He needs to get rid of some energy or else he's going to go feral. Just make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." Talia warned, and Laura nodded. She walked up to Derek and grabbed his arm, prompting a growl, but she ignored it.

 

"Come on big guy, time to frolic in the forest. We need to keep you sane." Laura coaxed, pulling Derek out the door. Derek wanted to struggle, but he distantly knew that running would give him a healthy outlet to release his control. Laura would make sure he didn't hurt himself.

 

They reached the garden, and Derek reared backwards. The delicate smell of flowers reminded him of Stiles. He growled, and shifted into his full wolf form. He pounced into the flowers, and rolled around, coating his pelt in their scent. Laura watched him, bemused, but not stopping him.

 

"Well, that wasn't what I was expecting, but this is better than you mauling me." She mused, her expression betraying her amusement. Derek just huffed and buried his snout in the dirt. Laura smirked, and sat down against a small tree. They sat there in silence, Derek just inhaling the smell of flowers and wishing Stiles were with him.

 

He didn't even realize that he was whining until Laura was wrapping him up in her arms, shushing him soothingly.

 

"Well get him back Der, I promise. Mom and Dad will rescue him. Try not to worry." She murmured. Derek did nothing, just pressed closer to her.

 

\+ + +

 

Lydia gulped as the Hale castle loomed in front of her. She was still unsure as to what had come over her, leaving the Argent castle and going to the Hales. Aidan had told her while lying in bed with her that they were going to go into Hale territory under the pretense of wanting to evaluate the Seer. He admitted that he didn't really want to take the Seer.

 

He had been thinking of leaving the Alpha pack for a while now, but hadn't been able to sway Ethan. Lydia had frowned when she heard this, thinking. She _had_ been thinking of leaving, and she detested the war between the Argents and Hales. This would be a good opportunity for her to leave Gerard, but also guarantee her safety by helping the Hales. 

 

That was the thought process that led her here, standing in front of the Hale castle with Aidan shifting nervously behind her. He had insisted on accompanying her on her journey, even if it was to the place where he had just kidnapped someone. The strange declaration of protection left butterflies in her stomach.

 

As they approached, Aidan slipped his hand into hers, and squeezed gently. She forced herself not to smile, but squeezed back.

 

A dark shaped suddenly appeared in front of the castle. It looked like a dog, and was snarling viciously. Aidan stepped in front of her growling. 

 

"Derek!" someone called. Lydia looked past the beast to a woman with dark brown hair running after it. The dog acknowledged the call with a flick of his ear. The woman halted when she saw what he was growling at, and her eyes turned blue.

 

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip your throats out where you stand." she snarled. The dog barked his approval. Lydia took a deep breath, and stepped out in front of Aidan. He didn't stop her.

 

"We know how to get to Stiles." she announced. Both woman and dog froze. The dog rippled, and he unfolded into a gloriously naked man.

 

"Stiles?" he asked, his voice desperately hopeful. Lydia nodded succinctly.

 

"Stiles."

 


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mind was clear, his goal simple; Find Stiles, kill Gerard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Blood, Fighting, and Gore

 

Stiles breathed slowly, trying to keep himself calm. His knees stung and ached from kneeling on the floor, and his arms had grown numb from their chained position on the ceiling. The brand on his back burned and throbbed, blood oozing down his blistered skin. He bit his lip, keeping in a cry as the wound pulsed repeatedly.

 

The door in front of him opened and his head snapped up. Gerard was standing there, his face like stone. He simply stared at Stiles, and Stiles stared back. Finally the King’s lip curled up into a cruel smirk, and he shook his head.

 

“Pathetic little thing, aren’t you.” he mused. Stiles said nothing, just looked down at the floor. Gerard walked slowly over to him, and unhooked his chains from the ceiling. Stiles’ arms fell limply to the floor, and he cried out as they protested sharply. Gerard just laughed, and pushed Stiles onto his back with his boot. Stiles groaned in pain. 

 

“Just when I thought I had you trained, you finally grow a spine.” Gerard drawled, pressing down on Stiles’ chest. “I guess you’ll have to have some more…reconditioning.” He rested his elbow on his knee, pressing all of his weight down onto Stiles’ chest. Stiles choked, feeling his ribs creak from the pressure.

 

“I think five weeks in the dungeon should be enough, don’t you? I know Harris has been dying to have more sessions with you.” Gerard laughs, and finally steps of of Stiles’ chest. The Seer whimpered, rolling over onto his side.

 

Gerard walked back to the door of the cell, and steps out. He whispered something to the guard standing outside, and the guard nodded sharply, glancing back at Stiles. Gerard shoots one last long smirk at Stiles before leaving and throwing his parting shot.

 

“Good boy.”

 

\+ + +

 

Derek didn’t even register the sting of his paws against the dirt road. He'd been running for hours, but he wasn't even out of breath. He could hear his family behind him, yipping and barking orders to their respective wolves. Laura was to his right, her sleek gray coat flashing in the corner of his eye. His mother and father were on his left, their matching jet black coats in stark contrast with the green countryside. 

 

He could see the Argent Castle in the distance, looming menacingly in the coming darkness. He could feel a burning in his chest; not from exhaustion, but from longing. He felt like part of his heart is missing, that it was ripped from his chest and he’s been bleeding out ever since. 

 

His mind was clear, his goal simple. Find Stiles; kill Gerard. He knew that as soon as he’s in the castle, he’ll be able to hear Stiles’ heartbeat. He could recognize the soothing rhythm frommiles away, but the Argent castle had warded against that with mountain ash. No matter, Lydia would break the circle when they arrived, and then the attack would begin. 

 

Derek threw his head up in the air and howled, loud and harsh. It was his battle cry, his call to arms, and his wolves responded. One by one, they all howled into the night sky, filling the air with growls and snarls. Derek could feel his wolf bursting at the seams, ready to tear flesh and rend bone. 

 

He was ready to save Stiles.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles bit his lip and teardrops slid down his cheeks, keeping in his sobs. He was so tired, and he missed Derek so badly that it almost hurt worse than the brand on his back. He missed the wolf’s light green eyes, his jet black hair, his kind smile…

 

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from breathing out a sob this time. He felt like his heart was failing, like his chest was on fire. He couldn’t breathe, and his throat tightened. He started gasping for air, his hands clawing at his chest and neck. He panicked even more when he couldn’t get any air, his fingers tingling and his sobs now falling uninhibited from his mouth.

 

He stayed like that for a while, just gasping and trying to remember how to breathe. His sobs slowly turned into soft whimpers, the quiet of his cell suddenly deafening.

 

His head snapped up when he heard the howls.

 

“Derek.” he whispered, his eyes widening. His wolf had come for him.

 

\+ + +

 

Derek could hear the frantic yelling and shouts of the Argent knights, now aware of their presence. He just pushed himself harder, the gates of the castle fast approaching. He snarled as a group of men ran out from the gates, their swords raised and gleaming. Derek waited until they were close, then bunched his muscles and let himself fly. 

 

He collided with metal, knocking down the man who he had pounced on. The man yelled and hit Derek over the head, but Derek didn’t even feel it. He just leaned down and bit, pulling on the flesh between his jaws and throwing it to the side. The blood tasted like copper, and he paid it no mind. 

 

He left the dying soldier and his pack behind, charging into the castle with a howl. His personal pack, who had all responded to his howl, came up on his sides and charged with him. They protected him as Derek honed his hearing, searching for his mate’s heartbeat. In the heat of the battle, the beat was hard to find, but Derek knew that he could do it.

 

His heart jumped when he finally heard the familiar rhythm. He yipped, and the dark brown wolf in front of him yipped back. Derek scrambled off in search of the heartbeat, following it through halls and down stairs. He could hear Stiles’ heartbeat growing louder, and his wolf again felt like it was about to burst. 

 

He finally went down black stone stairs and saw a single guard in front of a cell door. Behind the cell door lay Stiles, bloody and curled up in a ball. Derek saw red, and he leapt onto the guard with a vicious snarl. One bite, and the blood ran down his chin as the man’s neck hit the floor with a splat. Stiles was standing now, his golden eyes wide and disbelieving. 

 

Derek shifted back into his human form, and ran up to the bars.

 

“Stiles!”

 

\+ + +

 

“Derek, watch out!”

 

\+ + +

 

Derek threw himself to the right, and he felt a sharp sting on his side as a sword thrust into the air where he had just been standing. He turned on his heel, his claws and fangs coming out in one smooth motion, and launched himself at his attacker. The man hit the ground hard, grunting in pain as he grappled with Derek. The sword lay on the ground next to them, just out of reach of the man’s hand. 

 

Derek pinned the man beneath him, and finally got a look at his face. “Gerard.” he growled, his speech slurred from his fangs. Gerard sneered up at him, his face clawed and his eyes wild. 

 

“Filthy animal.” He spat, trying to throw Derek off of him. Derek snarled, and with no hesitation, sank his fangs into Gerard’s neck and pulled. The man’s garbled scream cut off abruptly, and Derek stood triumphant, spitting out the flesh from between his fangs. He turned to Stiles, blood dripping down his face, and ripped the cell door from its hinges.

 

Before he could even move, he had an armful of sobbing Stiles, and he hugged him tightly to his chest. He buried his nose into Stiles’ neck, rubbing a hand against his back as his mate shook and cried. He pressed soft kisses to his skin, whining as the sobs just grew louder. 

 

They stood there as Derek’s pack howled in victory, and they stood there as Derek’s family howled back. They stood there as Laura came barreling down the stairs, blood on her muzzle and her coat. 

 

Finally, when Stiles stopped sobbing and Derek felt like he could breathe again, they pulled apart. Derek didn’t even pause, pressing his mouth to Stiles’ in a hard kiss. Stiles kissed back, wet and salty and perfect.

 

“I love you.” Stiles said, his words choked and gasping. Derek just gripped him harder, and listened to Stiles’ heart beat.

 

Thump (Home). Thump (Home). Thump (Home).

 

\+ + +

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! I'm sorry if the ending seems a bit rushed, I wanted to finish this, and this was the best I could whip out in one night. I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Kidnapping, Torture, Body Modification
> 
> If I've forgotten any, please tell me!! I don't want to mislead anybody.


End file.
